


The Last Place

by Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of our 1920s AU, this time peeking in on Sansa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dropped the ball on this one. Going back, giving it the attention it deserves chapter by chapter, and finishing it this time.

_April, 1929_

“Remember, our first costume fitting is Saturday at eleven! Be there, and remember your BVDs!” Denys Redwyne clapped his hands twice, his reedy voice echoing slightly across the stage of the Sister Street Theatre.

Sansa looked at the rolled-up script in her hand and swallowed hard. Next to her, Jeyne Poole tucked her hand in the crook of Sansa’s elbow while Denys wheezed on. “C’mon, let’s go to Cherry’s. It’s Wednesday, and Wednesday is Pie Day. Cheer up, yeah?”

Sansa leaned her head against Jeyne’s and gave her best friend a small smile. “I’ll do my best.” _You’re lucky you got any role at all. This was your first audition...still, it would’ve been nice to get one with more than 4 lines. Or a better character name than ‘Cobweb’._

“Good- oh, we should hurry. Look who just showed up.” Jeyne nodded towards the back of the small theatre.

“Ugh.” Squinting slightly, Sansa wrinkled her nose. A small, slightly stooped figure was making its way down the center aisle. Olenna Tyrell was one of the main financial backers behind the small acting troupe that was housed at the Sister Street Theatre, and as such, liked to take some creative control over the performances. Sometimes the changes she demanded were for the best, but other times...Sansa had heard rumors of some disasters that were only narrowly averted. She had only just started with the theatre though, and had yet to experience the woman herself.

Denys Redwyne tripped down the stage stairs. “Olenna! My dear cousin...” He grasped Olenna’s small, gnarled hands in his own and kissed the old woman’s cheeks.

Jeyne snickered under her breath. “Come on.” Backstage was bustling with various cast members and crew and Jeyne tugged Sansa through the small throng. She’d been a member of the theatre for nearly a year now and was smiling hellos at everyone. “Denys is such a brown-noser.”

“Are they really cousins?” Sansa reached into a locker Jeyne had opened and pulled out her purse. She and Jeyne were small potatoes here, far too small to warrant a dressing room or even a storage closet, so they were relegated to storing their purses and coats in a small locker whose door would stick from time to time. Jeyne had showed her how to whack it with the heel of her hand to get it to open, but so far Sansa had had no luck with it.

“They’re something like fifth cousins three times removed.” Jeyne wound an orange and turquoise scarf around her hair, tying back her sleek brown bob. Sansa smiled to herself; Jeyne had impeccable style. That scarf was ugly as sin itself but against Jeyne’s gleaming dark brown hair the clashing colors looked natural. “What do you think of this scarf? I’m thinking of wearing it out tonight.”

Sansa wrapped a light spring coat around herself as they made their way into the small lobby of the theatre. “Did you get a new fella and forget to tell me?”

“Maybe.” Jeyne smiled coyly. “Hang on a second.” She fished through her handbag for a pack of cigarettes.

“That’s a disgusting habit, you know.” Sansa chided. “I’ve told Robb and I’ll tell you, it makes you smell like an ashtray.” Jeyne rolled her eyes as she shook out her match and inhaled deeply. Sansa knew she’d get nowhere with Jeyne, so she leaned against the box office counter. “So who’s this new boy, then?”

“One of your brother’s co-workers, actually. Here, hold this.” Jeyne handed Sansa her cigarette and fished around in her  purse again, this time coming out with a small powder compact. She popped it open and swiped a finger under her eye, clearing a smudge of kohl. “Anyway, I’m stepping out with Beric Dondarrion tonight.”

“ _Beric Dondarrion_?” Sansa laughed. She remembered seeing the rather grizzled-looking sergeant at several Policeman’s Balls, as well as her brother’s wedding.  “Isn’t he a little...old?”

“Bullfrogs. Anyway, we've been out a few times already and he's a real sweetheart. Very handsome, too.” Jeyne snapped her compact shut with an authoritative snap and deposited it back in her purse. “Now come on. Pie’s a’waiting!”

The lobby door swung open, bringing with it a soft spring breeze and a man who looked vaguely familiar to Sansa. He was tall and thin, with a sharp, intelligent face and lively brown eyes. His golden-brown hair was a little longer than what was fashionable, but Sansa decided it looked good on him. He gave Jeyne an easy, open smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and held the door open for them. “Afternoon, ladies. Jeyne, have you seen my Gram?”

“I’m right here, wondering where in God’s name you parked the car that it took you this long to get here.” A rather regal, irritated voice sounded behind Sansa and Jeyne, and Sansa spun. Olenna Tyrell was standing in the door to the theatre. She had a pair of fingerless lace gloves in one hand and was slapping them against the opposite palm. Sansa had never met either of her grandmothers. Both had passed away before she'd been born. But Olenna Tyrell looked exactly how she imagined a grandmother should look. Her snow-white hair was gathered in a neat twist at the base of her neck, and her face was lined but had a bit of a shrewish look to it. Her dark eyes flicked over Sansa and Jeyne. “Good heavens girl, was that scarf made by a colorblind rodeo clown?”

Jeyne’s hands flew to her hair, and the man laughed. It was a young, boyish sound that filled the small lobby. “Hush, Gram, you’re being rude.”

Olenna merely rolled her eyes. “Now, I'm done speaking with Denny. If I has known it would only take a moment to get him to agree to let you speak for me for this play I would have just made a phone call and spared us both the trip into the city."

"It's nothing." The man said with a shrug. "It's a nice day for a limp."

It was only then that Sansa saw the man was leaning heavily on a cane. Remembering her manners, she didn't stare, but instead busied herself by fussing with Jeyne's scarf. "We should go if you want pie before you meet Beric."

“Yes, yes, by all means, you’re excused.” Olenna waved a hand at them, dismissive but not impolite. “My grandson and I won’t keep you ladies from your young men.”

“Just my young man.” Jeyne looped her arm through Sansa’s. “Poor Sansa hasn’t stepped out with anyone since Joffrey Baratheon, have you?”

All at once Sansa’s smile felt like clay. _Joffrey_. She tried not to think of him but more often than she’d like he’d pop up like a prickly weed, all stinging and hurt. “I haven’t had time. C’mon Jeyne, let’s go.”

* * *

That night Sansa leaned back against the edge of her tub, idly swirling a glass of red wine while steam rose around her. She didn’t much care for the taste of the red, but sometimes when her head got to be too muddled it was the only thing that could help clear it. Jeyne’s flippant remark about Joffrey earlier had been unexpected and as much as Sansa tried to forget it, she couldn’t. _He ruined me_ , she reminded herself. The wine was dry and harsh in her throat. _He ruined me and laughed about it_.

When Sansa met Joffrey Baratheon she became enamored quickly, just like most girls in her school. He was perfect - handsome, charming, at or near the top of their class, rich, confident...Sansa remembered how they’d danced at the Policeman’s Ball so many years ago. He’d steered her around the dance floor as if they’d been doing it for years, paying her all the small compliments any girl would want to hear. She had been aching for the kindnesses he was giving her, she realized. Her father’s death was still raw and new, a gash in her that she’d thought nothing could heal and she’d thought that if anyone would understand, it would be Joffrey.

He hadn’t said a word about their fathers, though, and initially Sansa had been grateful. The distraction was refreshing at the time, but given time and retrospect she should’ve seen it wasn’t distraction for him - he simply didn’t care. _You should’ve seen it then and run. You should’ve listened to Robb..._

She took another deep swallow of wine and tried to ignore how her hand shook. Sansa set the glass on the edge of her tub and sank lower into the hot water. A light breeze wafted in the small bathroom window, tugging at a lock of hair. _You couldn’t have known. You were nothing but a stupid girl._

The night it had happened Sansa had been exhausted. Her youngest niece Beth, still an infant, had been sick with the croup and Sansa, her mother, and Roslin had been taking turns with the girl, sitting up with her while she was racked with coughs. Sansa had been up a full day and night and had forgotten she was supposed to accompany Joff to one benefit dance or another until she’d heard Joff’s Mercedes roar up in front of Riverrun. Joff was furious with her for making him wait, but he hid it well enough that her distracted mother, brother, and sister-in-law hadn’t much noticed. She’d dressed in a hurry, slapping some make-up on and pinning her hair away from her face before nearly tripping down the stairs in her haste.

“I’m sorry,” she’d murmured once they were in the car. “Beth is still so sick and I just lost track of time.”

“I don’t care.” Joff bit back. It was just the two of them in the car, a fact that cause goosebumps to race along Sansa’s arms. More and more lately, Joff had insisted on driving the Lannister’s newly imported Mercedes-Benz around Kingsport, alternating between racing sportily down the streets or taking his time, staring importantly out the driver’s side window when people turned to look. Sansa kept her eyes in her lap. She hadn’t ever thought she’d actually miss Joff’s driver Sandor, but his absence left an enormous cold gulf in the car, like someone had pulled away a warm blanket from around her. He may have been a gruff, hard man but something about him made Sansa feel safe.

That night had been hard, impossibly hard. Joff kept a steely grip around her wrist while they made the rounds at whatever benefit this was, and after only a few minutes Sansa’s cheeks were aching from holding her forced smile. She was so tired...all she wanted to do was curl up in her own bed away from Joff and his mother and their smug green gazes.

At the end of the night all she wanted to do was go home, but Joff insisted on going back to his mother’s estate. He pushed a glass of punch into her hand as she sat wearily on a plush, velvet couch in the parlor. The room was uncomfortably hot thanks to a fire in the ornate fireplace, and it only served to make her more drowsy. She stifled a yawn. “Please, Joff, I’m so tired. Beth is still sick and-”

“Drink that.” Joff threw himself in an armchair across from her and nodded at her tumbler, his smirk firmly in place. “It’ll wake you up. If not I’ll take you home.”

His tone left no room for argument and even if it did, Sansa didn’t have the energy in her to do it. She raised the glass to her lips and swallowed. It was sweet, too much so, with a cloying aftertaste that burned in her throat. It was repulsive and thick in her throat, and Sansa had to force herself to drink the rest of it. A small voice in the back of her head told her she should stop, but she silenced it. When Joffrey was in one of his moods the best thing to do, she’d learned, was to let him have his way. No sooner had she set the glass down, though, than the room lurched sickeningly. In a flash she knew she should’ve listened to her head.

“What was in that?” Her tongue felt heavy and uncoordinated. “Joff, what was _in_ that?”

Across the room he stood and pulled the French doors shut. His smirk grew and as Sansa’s vision greyed around the edges she saw his hand fall to his belt buckle. She tried to beg him to stop, to just take her home, but the words were lost before they found her lips. She was dimly aware of his weight on the sofa, his breath hot and loud against her ear as he shoved a hand under her skirt. He’d been taking some liberties with her for as long as she could remember, but he’d always stop when she made him. This was different.

“C’mon, Sansa.” Joff’s voice was mocking. He was pulling her beneath him and Sansa was powerless. Her arms wouldn’t move, and her legs felt limp and hollow. “You just need to relax a little.”

“No.” Sansa tried to push his hands away but her arms were heavy, so heavy, and her voice sounded like little more than distant bells. “Joff, please, stop!” His fingers fumbled with her underwear and she was powerless to stop him, to push him away, to do anything. The last thing Sansa saw was his smirk.

* * *

“Little bird.”

Sansa’s eyes flew open. _You’re at home, please God let me be at home, let it all have been a dream_. But no, she was still in the stuffy parlor at the Lannister estate. If she turned her head just...there. The fire had burned low, nothing but burnt orange embers in the fireplace now. Her glass lay on its side on the floor, the Oriental rug underneath it damp. Sansa stared at the spot, unable to tear her eyes away. Her body was numb and blessedly so. She knew exactly what Joff had done to her, and the the knowledge was bad enough. Feeling would come later. _Please, let it come later._

A shadow fell across her, a huge solid form kneeling next to her. “Sansa.”

The rough voice was enough to tear her eyes away from the spot on the carpet. She’d looked up to see Sandor Clegane crouching next to her, his twisted brow furrowed. Sansa swallowed. “Is...where’s Joff?”

Sandor shrugged his broad shoulders. “Search me. He took his car and peeled out of here a few hours back. Drunk as a lord. With any luck the little shit’s wrapped himself around a tree by now. Now tell me, what’re you doing here?”

Sansa pushed herself up on the couch, her mind racing as she tried to take stock of herself. Joff had been careful. Her dress wasn’t torn, there were no visible marks on her, he hadn’t hit her...he’d taken what he wanted from her and had left her there for the help to find. _Better Sandor than Cersei_. Should she tell Sandor? Could she? She opened her mouth, willing the words to spill out, but instead her lips pressed together and she shook her head. _He’s Joffrey’s dog at the end of the day. He won’t help you._ “I just...I had too much to drink.”

“You?” Sandor raised his eyebrow in disbelief and stood. “It’s quarter past two in the morning. Get up now, I’ll drive you home.”

The drive home had been quiet, the tires on the road the only sound. Sandor had a cigarette clamped between his teeth and Sansa could feel him glancing at her occasionally. She kept her gaze out the passenger side window, biting down on the inside of her lip. There was a raw ache starting between her thighs, but she did her best to ignore it. It wasn’t safe yet, she couldn’t let herself feel yet, and the last thing Sansa wanted was questions.

Instead of leaving her at Riverrun’s gate, Sandor pulled the rusty thing open and pulled his old black truck around to the back entrance, the gears grinding slightly as he put it in park. There was a light on in the kitchen and Sansa’s stomach sank. _It’s probably just Arya - she always leaves the light on_.

Sandor cracked his knuckles, the sound loud as gunshots in the silent cab. “Are you sure you’re alright?” There was something in his tone that suggested he knew exactly what had happened. Sansa felt hot shame wash over her and it was impossible to even look at him.

Sansa nodded mutely. Whatever Joff had put in her drink was making her head throb now, and left her feeling more than a little sick. She fumbled with the door handle. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“Little bi...Sansa.” Sandor had placed his hand on her arm. His palm was warm, but his touch still caused goosebumps to blossom. “He won’t touch you again. I swear it-”

“Thank you,” Sansa interrupted him firmly, “for bringing me home.” The corners of his mouth tightened but before he could say more Sansa jerked the truck’s door open and stumbled for the back door. As she pulled it shut, she heard his truck rumble off down the driveway, and she flipped the deadbolt behind her. It had been a long, arduous night and all she wanted was to take a bath and forget it had happened. Hopefully the rest of the house was asleep and wouldn’t notice her coming in so late.

“Where in the _Hell_ have you been?”

Sansa’s stomach clenched and sank. Robb was framed in the doorway between the kitchen and front hallway. He was in his pajamas, hair mussed and dark circles under his eyes. Little Beth was cradled in his arms, and Sansa could hear her pitiful coughs across the room. _Poor thing, they must be exhausted_. She swallowed hard at the dark irritation in her brother’s eyes. He strode the rest of the way into the kitchen, his robe flapping slightly, and Sansa laced her fingers together to hide their trembling.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s almost three o’clock in the morning!” Robb glanced down at his daughter as she wheezed and Sansa saw the toll her sickness was taking on him. Beth was nearly two months old and had been sickly from the beginning, the complete opposite of her older brother, Eddie. “Mother expected you home hours ago. Do you have any idea how worried she’s been? She finally fell asleep just an hour ago. You _know_ how she worries.”

“I’m _sorry_.” Sansa repeated and suddenly her eyes were burning. “I just- I’m sorry.” Before she knew what was happening she had slid to her knees, an arm wrapped around her stomach as she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” _No no no no, pull yourself together, you have to be strong, you have to be-_

“Sansa?” The anger was replaced by concern and confusion as Robb knelt awkwardly next to her. One hand held Beth in place against his chest and when the other gripped her arm. Suddenly all she could feel was Joff’s breath against her neck. She jerked her arm away and scrambled away until she was backed up against the butcher’s block table. Robb’s eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t mean to- what’s happened? Are you hurt? Sansa, was it Joff? What did he do to you? Tell me.”

“Robb I was r-” _Raped_. The word stuck in her throat, bitter and foul, and Sansa nearly choked on it. She took a breath, took another. She couldn’t tell Robb. If she did he would tell Theon and then...she didn’t want to think about what the two of them would do then. They may be police officers and it may be three in the morning, but Robb was also fiercely protective of his family and would go to the ends of the Earth to protect them.

“I’m sorry. I was really tired and fell asleep at Joffrey’s house. He was too tired to drive me home so that’s why he sent Sandor.” She forced a smile and wiped her eyes. _Don’t feel it yet. You can’t feel it yet_. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m alright, I promise. Here, let me take Beth. Is she doing better?”

Robb’s eyes never left her face. He didn’t believe her. That much was obvious. “What happened? Did he hit you?”

Sansa couldn’t meet his gaze. Her big brother Robb, always looking to protect her, to shelter her and bandage her wounds. _He can’t fix this. He can’t know. No one can_. She reached for little Beth and cradled the girl close, brushing her fingers over her forehead. “Her fever broke.”

Nonplussed, Robb nodded a bit jerkily. “Doc Luwin came by tonight, says the worst is past.”

“Good.” Sansa climbed to her feet, her smile feeling more natural as her niece cooed in her sleep. “You go on back to bed. I’ll walk with her for a bit and put her down.”

“But you just said-”

“Oh, Robb, honestly, go to bed. I can handle her.”

Robb had given her another strange look, narrowing his eyes slightly as if that would allow him to see inside her mind, but he’d eventually shuffled back off to bed. The eastern sky was turning grey by the time she fell into her bed, but she didn’t sleep. She couldn’t.

It had taken months before she’d been able to sleep through the night again, Sansa mused as she swirled her wine glass. She’d never told anyone what had happened that night at the Lannister’s. By the time the morning had come, it hadn’t mattered. By the time morning had come, Joffrey was dead.

Sansa took a sip of wine and slid further into her tub. She didn’t want to think about Joffrey any more tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining on Saturday morning, and Sansa lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t slept the night before. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Joffrey’s smirk, and every creak of her old apartment building sounded like his footsteps crossing the floor. It wasn’t usually like this - she was usually able to keep Joffrey at the very back of her mind but this week she had half-expected him to come jumping out from around every corner.

_He can’t_ , she told herself. She adjusted her hands on her white duvet, turning her head to gaze out the open window. The overgrown elm tree outside dripped with rain, the leaves still fresh and new. _He’s dead. You saw him go into the ground, you saw his body. He is dead_.

Robb had been the one to break the news to her. She’d been in Riverrun’s brightly lit sunroom the morning after Sandor had taken her home, hands wrapped around a mug of cooling, untouched coffee, thankful she’d been able to avoid the careful, questioning gazes she was getting. Normally she knew Catelyn would press her to find out what was wrong, but her mother was out at one of her numerous charity luncheons today, and Roslin had taken little Eddie, Rickon, Arya and Bran to the beach for the day. The front door had opened, and she’d heard Robb and Theon enter, her older brother calling for her. Sansa remembered walking to the front entryway, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floors. It wasn’t unusual for Theon and Robb to get called into work on a Saturday like today, but it hadn’t happened in awhile.

“What is it?”

Robb nodded to the sitting room. “C’mon. In here.”

Sansa’s stomach had twisted nervously. There was a foreboding somberness in Robb’s tone and expression, and even Theon looked grim. She sat on her mother’s favorite chaise, tucking her legs under her and looking from one man to the other. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Robb sighed and sat in the arm chair across from her, glancing up at his partner. Theon merely raised his eyebrows and Robb turned his attention back to Sansa. “We got a case early this morning. A body was found down by the docks.”

“A...it’s not Jeyne, is it?” Sansa’s eyes had widened. “Nothing happened to her?”

“No,” Robb said quickly. “No, it wasn’t Jeyne. It...it was Joff.” He looked down at his hands, spinning his wedding ring nervously before plowing on. “Bunch of commercial fisherman found him. Looked like he’d been beaten pretty badly, could hardly recognize him.”

Sansa let Robb’s words wash over her. She should feel something, shouldn’t she? After all, they’d been together for years. Their wedding had been half-planned since they’d graduated high school and they weren’t even engaged yet. Sansa was supposed to be head-over-heels in love with Joffrey. They were supposed to be one of Kingsport’s up-and-coming couples and here she could barely muster a reaction to the news of his death. She shook her head. “We weren’t anywhere near the docks last night. We were at the history museum for a dinner.”

“I know.” Robb leaned forward and took her unresisting hand in both of his. “You said you fell asleep at Joff’s last night and he had his driver bring you home. Are you _sure_ he was still at home when you left?”

“No.” Sansa felt like she was in a fog. She shook her head again. “No, I didn’t see him.” Across the room Theon leaned against the mantle and lit a cigarette. “Theon, you know Mother doesn’t like it when you boys smoke in here...”

Theon and Robb exchanged a small, amused glance, and Robb stood. “I just didn’t want you to hear about this from some journalist on the horn. You know what asses they can be-”

“I’m married to one of those asses, Stark.” Theon twirled his keys around a finger.

“You’re married to one of the good ones. Anyway, Sansa, are you ok? I know you and him were together a long time.” Robb’s eyes sought out Sansa’s, but she looked away.

“Yes.” Sansa responded quickly. Too quickly, by the way Theon and Robb glanced at each other again. She stood and smoothed her linen trousers. Her legs felt hollow. Sansa swallowed hard and forced the sticky-sweet smell of Joffrey’s breath to the far reaches of her mind. “I need some time alone, please.”

“Sure.” Robb gave her the same wary look he’d given her the night before as she’d sobbed in the kitchen, but pulled her into a hug she couldn’t bring herself to return. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I know you cared for him. You sure you don’t want one of us to stay here with you? Theon can go get Ma or Rosie and bring them back.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I just need some air.” Sansa was a heartbeat away from begging Robb and Theon to just leave. Her heart was pounding, her palms sweating, and she was sure they could see it. How could they not? _Don’t let them. Don’t let them see, don’t let them ask questions, just make them leave_. “Oh, that reminds me, Theon, Mother wanted to know if you wanted to bring Mya and Rodrik over for dinner tomorrow.”

Theon blinked, clearly caught off-guard by Sansa’s abrupt subject change. “Uh, yeah, sure. She’ll appreciate the night off. Hey, Robbo, we better get the lead out. Selmy’ll want us to talk to a few more people before we’re done today...”

“Yeah.” Robb had been staring at Sansa as if he was trying to see into her head. She avoided his gaze, knowing if they made eye contact he would see everything and she’d fly apart at the seams. “Alright. Sansa, you call me if you need anything, alright? Roslin’ll have the kids home before long otherwise.”

Sansa had spent much of the morning down by the river, taking solace in the quiet, even flow of the water. Carefully slipping off her shoes, she climbed on a large grouping of flat, warm rocks that lined a curve in the river and drew her knees up to her chest. Black willows dropped their leaves over the rocks and into the water where they were whisked away by the broad expanse of shallow water. When they were younger these rocks had been everything to her and her siblings: a castle where she’d been locked in the highest tower while Jon and Robb had fought each other or imaginary dragons to free her, a far-off planet peopled with strange monsters and beasts for Arya and Bran, a cove full of pirates and secret treasures for Rickon. There had been a certain magic locked here. Sansa wondered when it had vanished for her.

A loud pounding suddenly interrupted Sansa’s thoughts, and she was back in her own bed, knees hugged to her chest. She unfolded herself and padded across the creaky hardwood floors, grabbing her dressing gown off the back of her door.

“Just a minute!”

Wrapping the dressing gown tight around herself, Sansa unlocked the main lock, the deadbolt, the sliding bolt, and then opened the door just as far as her chain would allow. When she’d first moved into the apartment Jeyne and Roslin had told her the extra locks were ridiculous. Her neighborhood was as safe as a church, and she was on the top floor of a five-story walk-up. Who on Earth would go through all the effort to come after her there? But Sansa had insisted, so Robb had installed the extra locks. Being able to lock the world out was comforting to her.

This morning, however, Jeyne stood dripping in her hallway, her coat over her arm. “Morning, sleepyhead! Are you ready to get poked and prodded by a harpy with a measuring tape?”

Sansa smiled and undid the chain bolt, letting Jeyne breeze in. “I suppose. I still need to get dressed though.”

“Obviously.” Jeyne tossed her coat over the back of Sansa’s sofa and followed her friend into her room, flopping down onto her bed. “So guess what I heard over the wire?”

“Hmm?” Sansa flipped idly through her closet. Jeyne was always good for the latest gossip. She had been ever since grade school.

“C’mon, guess!” Jeyne propped her chin up in her hands and smiled up at Sansa. “Betcha you can’t.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Sansa tossed her dressing gown at Jeyne. “Just tell me, will you? I’m hardly awake enough to play guessing games.”

“Willas Tyrell was asking about you.” Jeyne’s eyes were sparkling now.

“Who?” Sansa’s voice was muffled as she pulled a sky-blue dress over her head. It was made of a light, floaty fabric that she hoped would counteract the stifling humidity in the air.

“Willas Tyrell! That man we were talking to the other day at the theatre. Olenna’s grandson or something like that. The man with the cane.”

“Is that who that was?” Furrowing her brow, Sansa tugged a brush through her long red hair. She hadn’t spared Olenna Tyrell or her grandson a second thought. “Why was he asking about me?”

“Dunno. But since Olenna’s overseeing the play maybe he’s trying to bend her ear.” Jeyne waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe he wants to put you in one of the leads.”

“Please.” Sansa snorted. The theatre’s production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ was drumming up a lot of press, and part of Sansa was actually glad she’d been cast in such a small, nearly silent role. No one would notice if she messed up. S _ix words. That’s it_. “I’m the last person who’s good enough to play Hermia. And anyway, casting’s done”

“No,” Jeyne agreed. “You’d make a better Helena. You both seem so sad all the time.”

“I’m not sad.” Sansa said quickly.

“Yes you are.” Rolling onto her back, Jeyne reached for the issue of _McClure’s_ sitting on Sansa’s nightstand and started flipping through it. “You think no one notices, but sometimes you smile and it’s just...empty.”

Jeyne’s tone was so blithe and flippant that it took a moment for her words to sink in and when they did Sansa had to force herself to take a breath. For the most part, Jeyne was a light-hearted, easy-going girl but every so often she’d say just the right thing to pierce Sansa to her core. Was she really that transparent? She pulled on a shoe and avoided her best friend’s gaze. “It’s my dad’s birthday soon and I’ve been thinking about him a lot,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie - her father’s birthday was in a few days, and not a day had past since he’d died that she hadn’t thought about him. Deep down though, Sansa knew that while her father’s death was part of the emptiness that seemed to be  consuming her, there was more to it.

“Oh honey.” Jeyne looked at Sansa over the edge of the magazine, all sympathy now. “Are you going to visit him?” At Sansa’s nod, she put the magazine down. “Do you want some company?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, it’s ok. I’ll be ok. My mother will probably be there.” There was no ‘probably’ about it. Catelyn Stark spent the entire day at her husband’s grave every year on his birthday, and then on the anniversary of his death. Sansa suspected she spent other days there, that not all her afternoons were tied up with charity luncheons and rotary club meetings. She blinked and pulled herself out of her thoughts. “We should go.”

* * *

The theatre’s seamstress, a whippet-thin old woman with snow-white hair, eyed Sansa critically. “Someone saw fit to give you some childbearing hips.” She had a row of pins pressed between her lips and chewed on them as she marked down Sansa’s measurements. “Had a sister who had ‘em. She still died in her childbed, her and the baby both.”

“I’m sorry.” Sansa murmured, not really paying attention. She just wanted to get off the little ottoman the seamstress had her standing on and go join Jeyne off to the side of the stage. She’d been measured already, and the seamstress hadn’t had any little comments on _her_ figure, Sansa noted. There was a long line of cast members waiting to get measured after her, and some of them were glaring at her like it was _her_ fault it was taking so long. Her cheeks felt flushed under their scrutiny, and she avoided their gaze, instead focusing on the rows of mostly-empty seats filling the theatre.

The front row held four figures today - Denys, Willas, a woman that Sansa didn’t recognize, but she had to be his sister Margaery. Sansa’s breath caught. _Loras Tyrell_. She’d never actually met the dashing young newspaper editor face-to-face, but she’d seen him in the gossip columns and society pages nearly every week. _He’s so handsome..._

There was a little girl with them too, with the same cherubic face as Loras and Margaery, the same golden-brown curls. She was clambering over Loras’s lap, her small voice occasionally piping up and asking if they were done yet. The four adults seemed deep in conversation, but occasionally Willas would glance her way, and Sansa remembered what Jeyne had said. _Why would he be asking about_ me?

A hand swatted at her hip, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m done with you. Now scoot!” The seamstress was already waving the next person over. “Come on, you! I’ve got to measure you for a set of donkey’s ears...”

Sansa hurried over to Jeyne, who was idly filing her nails. “Did you see who’s right in the front row?”

Jeyne grinned and tucked her emery board away. “Your lovely lad Loras Tyrell, I do believe. I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s got an eye for fashion. I bet Denny puts him in charge of costumes...I hope so, anyway. Are you done getting measured?”

“Mmhmm.” Sansa rubbed a spot on her hip where one of the seamstress’s pins had poked her. “We’re done for the day, right? No actual rehearsal?”

“You betcha.” Jeyne nodded and adjusted her barrette. “It’s stopped raining too - what do you say you come with Beric and me down to the shore? We were going to have a little picnic just off the boardwalk.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to be a third wheel.” Sansa replied. Part of her was still fluttering inside over the idea of Loras Tyrell being involved with this production somehow, and the idea of seeing him multiple times a week. She hadn’t felt excited over anything in months. Years, even. It left her feeling unsettled, somehow. As quickly as it came, though, it passed and she was quiet inside again. _Although the thought of Beric Dondarrion at a picnic..._

“You wouldn’t be, but...” Jeyne shrugged. “C’mon, let’s scram. It’s getting hot in here.” She looped her arm through Sansa’s as the two of them made their way down the small flight of stairs on the side of the stage. As they passed the front row Sansa heard Loras and Denys arguing over which fabric would best suit Titania, the Fairy Queen, and Margaery was at once rolling her eyes and tickling the little girl. Willas glanced at her again and offered a small smile. More by reflex than anything, Sansa returned it.

The air was refreshingly cool outside, rain-scented and  soft. After reassuring Jeyne that no, she didn’t want to intrude on their picnic, Sansa pecked her friend on the cheek and hurried down the block. She didn’t want to go home just yet, and she had her script in her bag. There was a large park just a few blocks away from the theatre, and Sansa was able to find a bench under a canopy of trees, across from a large playground. Pulling her script and a pen out of her purse, she flipped through and marked her lines, sighing a little. _Four lines. Four lines in a two-hour play. Some grand debut this is...it’ll be impossible for you to screw up, at leas_ t.

Crossing one leg over the other, Sansa flipped back to the beginning of the script. She’d loved Shakespeare ever since they started studying it her freshman year of high school. Her father had given her a volume of Shakespeare’s complete works when she turned fifteen, but it had been lost when Rickon tossed it into the river during one of his fits after their father’s death. Sansa had tried not to be mad at her littlest brother, but it was hard. It had been one of the few things she’d had from Ned that she’d truly treasured. She still felt its loss like a hole in her chest.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Sansa started and looked up. Willas Tyrell was standing in the gravel path, a light suit coat folded over his arm. He shifted slightly and the sun glinted off the brass handle of his cane. Sansa blinked and moved her bag, sliding over. “Of course, please. I didn’t mean to take up the whole thing.”

Willas gave her the same, small smile from the theatre and eased himself onto the bench, stretching out his leg with a small sigh. After a minute he spoke.

“You’re Jeyne Poole’s friend, aren’t you?”

Sansa glanced over at him, giving an appropriately  polite smile. “Sansa Stark. And you’re Willas Tyrell.”

“In the flesh.” Willas shifted his grip on his cane.

They were quiet another minute, and Sansa chewed on the inside of her lip. Should she ask Willas why he was asking about her? Would that seem rude? She had to say _something_ , otherwise it’d seem rude for her to sit there like a clod. She cleared her throat, casting about for something to talk about. “Is your brother going to be helping out with the play? I saw him talking with Denys about the costumes.”

“Loras?” Willas chuckled and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. Sansa found herself staring at his hands as he fiddled with his cuffs. The shirt was a soft bottle green, a color she normally didn’t like but against Willas’s brown hair, it looked nice. “No, Loras isn’t actually big on theatre. He and my sister and Luci there had gone out to brunch and decided to stop by after. And he always enjoys wheedling ol’ Denny every chance he gets.”

“Oh.” Sansa clasped her hands together, trying to mask her disappointment. “Is Luci your daughter, then?”

“Lord no.” Willas reached up to a low-hanging branch and plucked a broad green leaf off it, twirling it. “She’s my other brother, Garlan’s, oldest. Margie loves to take her out though - she and her husband never had any of their own before he died.”

“She was cute.” Sansa smiled, the gesture feeling more genuine than just polite. “She reminds me of my nephew...always crawling all over everything.”

Willas chuckled. “That sounds like Luci alright.” He nodded at the script in her hands. “Going over lines?”

“Oh, no.” Sansa flipped it shut, marking her spot with a finger. “Just reading. It’s one of my favorites. I’ve only got four lines. ‘Cobweb’ isn’t much of a main character.”

Willas turned to face her fully on the bench, dark eyes full of amusement. “I have to admit, I’m interested to see what kind of costume you get.”

“You and me both” Sansa sighed. “I bet they just roll me in dust and dirt and cover me in spiders. Cobwebs are just...ugly.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Denny has a very particular image in mind for his fairies. He’s been pestering Loras and Margie about what the costumes should look like for days. And besides, haven’t you ever seen a cobweb in the morning, before the dew dries? They’re the  most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Something shifted in Willas’s voice, and he cleared his throat. “So do you like the comedies over the tragedies then?”

Sansa blinked. Someone asking what she liked was unexpected - she was usually expected to just go along with popular opinion without ever voicing her own. “I- it depends on the play, I suppose. A lot of the comedies depend too much on romance, but the tragedies are just so sad.”

“Well, they are tragedies.” Willas rested his arm along the back of the bench. “When’s the last time you saw a light-hearted tragedy?”

Sansa smiled, looking down at her hands. “Fair enough. I haven’t read any of his plays in so long. My father gave me a copy of his works but it got...lost.”

“I’m sorry.” Willas sounded so sincere she looked over at him. “Losing a favorite book can be just as hard as losing a friend.”

“Or a family member.” Sansa didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud right away, and when she did her cheeks blazed. “That’s stupid, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” Willas said softly. “It’s not stupid, Miss Stark. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Sansa, Mr. Tyrell.” She said. “‘Miss Stark’ makes me sound like a schoolmarm.”

Willas smiled at her and flicked a few strands of hair off his forehead. “Sansa, then. And if I’m calling you Sansa you’re calling me Willas.” He stuck out a hand. “Deal?”

Sansa looked over at him and couldn’t help but smile back. His grasp was firm and warm but gentle all the same. “Deal.”

* * *

By the time Sansa returned to her apartment the air had grown thick and still, and by sunset dark clouds built up over the city. She moved around her small space, opening every window and pinning her hair up off her neck. Small, hot gusts of wind wound through the garrett, twisting her curtains and blowing the French doors to her bedroom shut until she propped them open with two small, cast-iron dogs she’d taken from Riverrun.

Rain started to fall as she puttered around her kitchen, scrubbing the counter, picking things up, putting them down again. Her mind was as restless as the sky outside and she had to force herself to pour a cup of tea and sit down, to just watch tongues of lightning dart down and flick the tops of the skyscrapers downtown.

There was something unsettling about Willas Tyrell but Sansa couldn’t put her finger on it. She curled her legs under her and wrapped her hands around her mug, watching the tree outside her window bend and sway in the wind. He was...nice. Open. Completely unassuming and completely unlike the men Sansa was used to dealing with. He seemed like he cared about what she had to say.

_Why was he asking about you, though_? The question pinged distantly in the back of her mind. Lightning flickered again and in the same heartbeat thunder roared. The table lamp next to Sansa flared and then flickered out, but she didn’t flinch, deep in thought. There wasn’t anything special about her to attract the older man’s attention, nothing outstanding. How many times had Joffrey compared her to other girls when they’d gone out? She was completely unremarkable, and she knew it...so what was it?

Sansa stood abruptly and crossed to the window, pulling it shut against the storm. She was overthinking things, as usual. Pulling open a drawer in her kitchen, she dug around until she found a taper and some matches. Within minutes she’d found enough candles to give her some reading light, and she curled up on her sofa with her script. _There’s nothing special about you_.


	3. Chapter 3

"I get to knock on the door this time!"

"Nooo, Roddik, my turn!"

“Tell you what, boys, whoever gets to the door first can tell your Aunt Sansa she needs to get an apartment on the ground floor next time. Your dad’s too old for this shit.”

“Mama said you weren’t supposed to say that word in front of us.”

“Your ma also said you weren’t supposed to feed your broccoli to the dog.”

Sansa listened to the clattering footsteps on the narrow stairwell outside her door, and smiled. Every week she was still expected to return to Riverrun for Sunday dinner, come Hell or high water. She would catch a ride with Theon, Mya, and their boys ever since she’d accidentally driven through the gates at Riverrun for the fourth time. Robb had summarily taken her driver’s license and burnt it. She’d been indignant, but when he told her they couldn’t afford any more new front gates, Sansa had shut her mouth and surrendered her car keys.

There was an insistent knock on her door. “Auntie Sansa, open up!”

Smoothing her hands over her grey linen trousers, Sansa put her hand on the knob and paused, grinning. “Whoever is it?”

“It’s me! C’mon, let me in!”

“Alright, Me.” Sansa pulled the door open and laughed as two small figures launched themselves at her legs. “Oof! Good grief, you’ve both gotten so big this week!”

Rodrik and Quenton Greyjoy beamed up at her, their faces so alike and so different. Rodrik was his father’s son through and through and even at the age of three, Sansa knew the skinny, black-haired little boy was going to be a handful.

_Not Quent, though_. If Rodrik was all Theon, two-year-old Quenton was all...well, the running joke after the boy had been born was that he was the milkman’s. As fair as his brother was dark, Quenton was easily one of the shyest, sweetest children Sansa had ever met. If Rodrik was running across Riverrun’s manicured lawns with her own nephew or raising Cain at the Greyjoy’s home, Quent was usually within an arm’s reach of his mother. Both the boys were sweet though, and now Sansa knelt to hug them. “Did your mother not come this week?”

“She did.” Theon answered for his sons, leaning against Sansa’s doorframe and ruffling Rodrik’s hair. “She said this new baby’s sucking all the energy out of her so she stayed in the car. You ready?”

“You betcha.” Sansa straightened and spun for the boys. “Do I look presentable?”

Quenton smiled shyly, his fair cheeks turning as pink as Sansa’s blouse. “You look pretty, Auntie Sansa.”

“You charmer.” Sansa grinned and took each boy by the hand, leading them down the stairs. “Got that from your mother, no doubt.”

“Hardly.” Theon followed them down the stairs. “Everyone knows no lady can resist a Greyjoy. All we have to do is tip our hats and they fall right into bed.”

“Why?” Rodrik asked. “Do you make them tired?”

“After a manner of speaking.” 

* * *

 Aside from a brief argument over which boy got to sit on which side of Sansa in the Greyjoy’s car and a hangup when one of the bascule bridges spanning the Blackwater River got stuck, the drive to Riverrun was peaceful. Soon Sansa found herself on the back patio with a glass of lemonade in hand. Rodrik, Eddie, and, after a little cajoling, Quenton, were running across the emerald lawn playing Cops and Robbers. Eddie, as usual, was directing how they were playing in his own two-year-old way, bossing Rodrik and Quenton around with a natural ease. Sansa could see Roslin, or maybe Catelyn, had attempted to tame the boy’s unruly chocolate curls again, but had lost to his cowlicks. They were a mess as he capered about, gleaming in the spring sun.

On the back patio Robb was stretched out on a wicker sofa, feet propped up on the arm. He had one arm behind his head, laughing as he regaled Mya and Sansa with some tale about a drunk he and Theon had had to deal with the week prior.

“You should’ve seen the look on Theon’s face when the guy just pulled it out and started makin’ water right on his shoes! Best thing I’ve seen all month.”

On the creaky porch swing Mya sipped her lemonade and swatted Theon. “You told me the soles wore out and that’s why you threw them away! Those were expensive!”

“Oh, please, Mya, by now you should take everything he says with a lump of salt.” Roslin breezed out of the French doors leading to the house, shifting Beth off her hip and patting the girl’s silky brown curls. “Go on and play with your brother.”

The girl toddled off obediently and Roslin perched on the edge of the wicker sofa. Robb rested his head in her lap, one foot disappearing into the juniper bush at the end of it. “So Sansa, you’re awful quiet. What sorta trouble’ve you been getting into lately?”

“No trouble.” Sansa replied. “Just play rehearsals. We got lucky though - normally Olenna Tyrell likes to meddle with the productions, but this time she’s sending her oldest grandson instead.”

“Oh, Willas?” Mya straightened. “Isn’t he just the nicest man? He’s stopped by the paper a few times and I swear, if you talk to him for ten minutes he’d give you the shirt off his back.” She shielded her eyes, scanning the lawn. “Rodrik, don’t go past those trees! And put your pants back on! We’ve talked about that!”

Theon rolled his eyes. “Great, now you’ve got my wife going full schoolgirl-crush on another Tyrell. Thanks a bunch, Sansa. Last time it took her months to stop talking about dear ol’ Garlan.”

“Oh, quiet.” Mya leaned over and pecked his cheek. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

Before Theon could respond there was an ear-splitting shriek from the lawn. “ _Mamaaaaa!_ Eddie bit my toe!”

Before either mother could respond, Theon grinned. “Bite ‘im back, Quent! Go on, show him how it’s done!” There was another shriek as Roslin and Mya both glared.

“I swear to God, Theon…” Roslin glowered at him as Eddie ran towards her, all crocodile tears and with Beth in tow. Sansa watched as she cooed over it appropriately, and Mya gave Theon a look. He sighed and stood as he went off to collect his own sons. There was such a comfortable, familiar intimacy between the four of them and it made Sansa feel like an outsider. She’d never experienced that sort of closeness with anyone. It didn’t seem likely she ever would.

The porch doors opened again and Arya strode out, dressed in dirty knickerbockers and a too-big men’s shirt. Her face was flushed and strands of dark hair had slipped out of her braid, and Sansa had no doubt as to where she’d been. Her eye had been blackened at some point in the past few days, and was fading to a sickly yellow-green. _Boxing again._ Arya squeezed herself next to Sansa and plucked a cigarette out from behind her ear, lighting it with a match struck off her thumbnail. Sansa couldn’t hide her sigh when Arya blew a smoke ring in her face. “What?” Her little sister grinned.

“You know Mother expects us to dress nice for Sunday dinner.” Sansa heard the lecturing tone creep into her voice and made no attempt to stop it. Arya was so... _unladylike._ It drove Sansa nuts. Absolutely insane. “Not all beat-up in a pair of Robb’s old pants from grade school and a shirt that hasn’t been washed in a month.”

Robb furrowed his brow. “Those aren’t my pants…”

Theon returned to the patio, one son tossed over each shoulder much like a sack of potatoes, “Those never would’ve fit Robb when we were in school. He was a fat little fu-” Mya shot him a look. “-boy.”

Arya waved off Sansa’s concerns. “You should hear what Jaq says the fighters wear where he’s from…”

Sansa rolled her eyes and tuned Arya out. She’d been going to Gendry Waters’s boxing gym with him for years now, and recently she’d started talking ad nauseum about a mysterious figure named Jaq. She didn’t know where he came from, or where he was going, or how he’d wound up in Kingsport, but according to Arya he did possess a mystic and effective way of fighting. Sansa never listened to her long enough to find out what was so mysterious or effective about it, but she did know she wasn’t the only one who was sick of hearing about it. Usually Arya and Gendry were attached at the hip, and she hadn’t missed his exasperated sighs when Arya would start in on this foreign interloper.

When Sansa heard Arya pause to take a breath she leapt in. “Roslin, where’s Catie? Is she up in her nursery?”

Roslin nodded, shifting Eddie on her lap and wiping the last of his tears away. “She should be awake soon. You can go see if she’s up yet, if you want.” She gave Sansa a wink, knowing how little she could take of Arya.

Sansa took the chance for escape, tripping lightly up the stairs she used to climb every day. She felt an odd sense of deja vu as she approached the nursery - it had used to be her room. The previous spring when Roslin and Robb had announced yet another little Stark was on their way, it had been the prompt Sansa needed to get out of Riverrun. The estate was spacious, but with both Rickon and Bran getting older, and Robb and Roslin’s ever-growing brood, it was beginning to feel crowded to Sansa. After scouring the newspapers and lamp post ads, she’d found her beloved little garrett in one of Kingsport’s oldest neighborhoods last fall.

She’d been lucky. No sooner had the ink dried on her lease than the rents in the city had started to skyrocket. Sansa’s downstairs neighbor was a stockbroker, and she’d frequently heard him fretting about how well the stock market was doing now. “It can’t last,” he always said, more to himself than anyone else. “It can’t.”

The door to the nursery was open a crack, and she eased it the rest of the way open. Little Catie was sleeping, splayed on her back with her tiny rosebud mouth moving in a dream. Sansa scooped her up, gently resting her lips on the pale fuzz barely starting to grow on the girl’s head. She looked around the room. There was very little indication she’d ever lived here - the knickknacks she’d left behind had been packed away, a fresh coat of wallpaper had been put up after she’d left, and of course the furniture was different. It was like she’d never existed, except for the music box on the dresser.

Sansa brushed a layer of dust off the rosewood lid and lifted it. A tiny ballerina popped up on a spring, arms held carefully over her head while a familiar, quiet melody drifted out. Sansa closed her eyes against a sudden pang in her chest. _Dad would wind that up for me every night before I’d go to bed when I was little._

After another moment’s reminiscing she adjusted Catie in her arms and started downstairs towards the dining room. Jeynie was calling that dinner was ready.

* * *

Tuesday afternoon Sansa and Jeyne slumped together in the theater seats while up on the stage, three of the leads were stumbling over their lines and Denys was sweating, pacing up and down the stage with a rolled-up script in his hand.

“Dee-mee-tree-us. Dee-mee- _tree-us_ ,” he enunciated. “Not Dee-mee-treat-is. Let’s take it from the top of Helena’s speech. Remember. Dee-mee-tree-us.”

The actress cast as Helena, a woman who was to be on the wrong side of 30, sighed and snapped her gum. She shifted her weight and looked at her script, reciting woodenly. “O, I am out of breath fro- _in_ this fond chase. The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace...”

Jeyne rolled her eyes and started plaiting a lock of Sansa’s hair. “Please, she can barely say her own name without stumbling over it.”

Sansa chuckled and let her eyes drift shut. The theater was warm, the chair plush, and Jeyne’s fingers in her hair were so relaxing. Their rehearsal was slated to go on until at least five tonight, but so far they’d only rehearsed a handful of scenes, none of which involved Sansa or Jeyne. She shifted in her seat, propping her ankles up on the back of the seat in front of her and settling her head onto Jeyne’s shoulder. “Wake me up if they actually need me, would you?”

“Absolutely not!” Jeyne shoved an elbow into her side. “You have to stay awake! Otherwise who’ll make sure _I_ don’t fall asleep?”

“Fine,” Sansa grumbled. “I wish I’d’ve brought the _Lantern_ or something. They’ve got a crossword, at least.”

“ _I_ wish I’d brought a sandwich. What do you say we sneak out and leg it over to Carla’s? It’s pot roast day today…” Jeyne waggled her eyebrows. “You love her pot roast.”

“Everyone loves her pot roast. How about after? We can’t skip out on rehearsal. We’ll be canned.”

“I can’t, I’m going out with-”

“Beric again.” Sansa finished with a small laugh. “Thursday, then.” The girls were quiet for a bit, and Sansa bit the inside of her cheek occasionally to keep herself awake. “Say, you said last week Willas Tyrell was asking after me.”

“Mm-hmmm.” Jeyne shifted in her seat to smile coyly at Sansa. “And rumor has it you two were having a little _tete-a-tete_ in the park?”

“Who told you that?” Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed. “We just talked. Nothing half as scandalous as you’re making it sound. He was nothing but a gentleman.”

Jeyne’s grin grew. “What’d you talk about?”

“Books.” Sansa replied quickly, feeling her defenses rise. She didn’t want to discuss her conversation with Willas with anyone, even Jeyne. She was still trying to figure him out, and figure out the small smiles and glances he seemed to give her. Sansa didn’t know what he wanted from her, and the thought was frightening. Until she knew what to make of him, she wanted to keep her distance.

Jeyne had apparently missed that memo. “That’s the biggest bunch of baloney I’ve heard all week.” She twisted in her seat. “Well speak of the Devil. I’ll just go ask him myself.” She stretched and stood, and Sansa followed her gaze. Sure enough, Willas was making his way down the aisle, looking amused at the scene on stage.

“NO!” Before she knew what she was doing Sansa had grabbed the back of Jeyne’s blouse and yanked her back into her seat. Her shout echoed through the theater, and Sansa was suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on her.

“Jeepers creepers, Sansa, what’s eating you?” Jeyne adjusted her blouse and twisted around to try and see the back. “I swear to Pete If you ripped this…”

“Something you’d like to share with us, Sarah?” Denys looked irritated, glowering down at them from the stage.

“No, I just-she…” Sansa was flustered and wanted to run, but was pinned to her seat. Everyone was looking at her, some more curious, some annoyed. Her cheeks were flaming as she slumped in her chair. “I’m sorry.”

Denys turned back to the cast on stage and clapped his hands, and they were off again but Jeyne’s attention was still on Sansa. “Are you alright? You look pale. I didn’t mean it about the shirt, it’s not even ripped.”

Sansa nodded. “I’m fine. I just need a drink of water. It’s warm in here. I’ll be right back.”  Without waiting for a response she bolted down the side aisle towards the lobby. There was a small water fountain near the box office, and once she was done drinking she splashed some water on her face. _What’s wrong with you?_

“Sansa?” She whirled, her heart in her throat. Willas was standing in the lobby, the door to the theatre swinging shut after him. He looked concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” Sansa made herself smile. “Everything’s Jake. I just didn’t hear you, is all.”

Willas chuckled. “You kids and your slang.” He took a cautious step forward, gripping his cane. “Don’t let Denny get to you, alright? He’s just a bit of an odd egg who’s bad with names. Here,” he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “You’ve got a little...there.” He touched the soft cloth just below her eye, his finger brushing her cheek. “Water.”

“Oh…” Sansa touched her cheek. Her kohl was probably running and making her look like a racoon. “It was just warm in there, and …and that lady who’s playing Helena is just so _awful_.” Why was she so flustered? Sansa had learned long ago that she was expected to be a museum piece - something pretty to look at, still and calm and cool to the touch, if you were allowed to touch it. Not this flushed, jittery, jumpy creature she’d become. _And who do you think you are, insulting someone else’s acting?_

But Willas just smiled again. “Lollys? Ah, she’s a nice enough gal. She just might be a little more comfortable backstage than onstage. Are you sure you’re alright, though?”

“I am.” Sansa nodded, feeling far more confident now. She swiped a finger under her eye, relieved when it didn’t come back covered in kohl and mascara, and she felt like a museum piece again. “I should go back in…”

“Stay out here if you like. It is cooler...just till you feel better.” Willas looked as though he was going to say more, but paused. He shifted his weight, grimacing the tiniest bit and Sansa wondered how he’d gotten his cane in the first place. “Sansa, this may be a little sudden but you wouldn’t want to-”

The theatre door swung open again and this time it was Jeyne poking her head out. “Sansa, they’re actually ready for us. Are you coming?”

“You betcha!” Sansa smiled a bit apologetically at Willas. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing.” Willas shook his head and moved to hold the door for her and Jeyne. “It’s not important.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ash Grove was the final resting place for many of Kingsport’s well-to-do, Starks included. Their plot was set in a dense, wooded copse, just down the path from where the Tullys lay overlooking the river. Generations of Starks were buried here, and Sansa had met none of them. Her father’s stone was the newest, tucked between her long-dead Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Brandon. It still stung to see his name engraved on the stone, the entirety of his life reduced to two dates. _God_ , but Sansa missed him. He’d been a pillar in her life, holding her up when she needed it. It still seemed unfathomable that he was under the ground, nothing but bones by now. She stepped between some of the trees bunched around her father’s grave, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Catelyn was sitting on a low stone bench installed next to Ned’s grave. It was cut from the same grey and white rock. Her red hair was gathered into a knot low on her neck, and she held a piece of unfinished needlework in her lap. She had been there since early morning, Sansa knew, and would remain there until sunset. The thick grass muffled her footsteps, or so she thought, but when Sansa approached her father’s grave her mother turned to give her a small, sad smile. “Your father was so happy that you liked that necklace.”

Sansa sat next to her mother, fingering the emerald pendant her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. The stone was the size of her thumbnail, wrapped in careful silver filigree. It had been an unusually sentimental gift from Ned, one to mark a milestone birthday. He’d given Robb an engraved watch on his sixteenth, and Sansa knew he’d planned similar gifts for Arya, Bran, and Rickon. _He was dead four months after he gave me this. I should’ve worn it more._

It was so quiet here, quieter than the rest of the cemetery and cooler in the shade. She rubbed her bare arms, wishing she'd brought a cardigan to wear over her blouse.“Of course I do.”

“Come sit with me.” Catelyn set her needlework aside and turned to face Sansa. Her bright blue eyes searched her daughter’s face. She grasped Sansa’s hands and seemed to struggle for words. “Sansa...sweetheart...are you alright?”

Sansa could’ve laughed but she knew if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop. And besides, it wasn’t what her mother wanted or needed to hear. “I’m fine. It’s just hard today.”

Catelyn shook her head. “I know it is but you haven’t seemed like yourself for so long, and I’m worried about you. I know losing your father, and then your grandfather, and then Joffrey all within such a short time is hard, but you never seem happy anymore. You haven't, not for years. I've been meaning to say something about it but the time never seemed right.” She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “I worry about you living all alone like you do. It’s just not safe, not these days. Wouldn’t you feel better coming back home to be with your family? The kids are growing up so fast. I’d hate for you to miss it. We can get you out of your lease. Just come home.”

The pleading note in her voice broke Sansa’s heart. She was tempted beyond reason to say yes, of course she wanted to go home. She wanted to go home and never leave, wanted to be surrounded by her nieces and nephew, always clamoring for her attention, and see Bran and Rickon continue to grow up, and even fight with Arya like she used to. She wanted to wake up somewhere where there was another heartbeat. She wanted to fall asleep on a rainy night buried under a pile of blankets and her brothers’ dogs. _That’s over...even if you go home it won’t be the same._ Suddenly the grove seemed too cold to Sansa, and the old pine trees swaying overhead seemed too close. She stood, brushing off her skirt. “I should go.”

“But you just got here.”

“I know, but I was going to visit Joffrey today, and I’ve got rehearsals too.” _No you weren’t, and no you don’t. Denys cancelled today’s rehearsal._ The lies were blatant to Sansa but Catelyn merely nodded.

"I didn’t mean to upset you. You know Bran’s going away to school in the fall. It’d be nice to have all my children under one roof again before he goes.”

“You didn’t upset me. My play closes at the end of June. I’ll come home for a few days after that, alright?” It wouldn’t be a vacation necessarily, as Riverrun was only half an hour from Sansa’s apartment, but her mother was right. She needed some time at home. “I’ll be by on Sunday. Give the little ones a hug for me.”

Sansa touched her father’s headstone and left her mother there, leaving the cool grove of trees and re-emerging into the soft spring afternoon. The Baratheon’s plot was next to the Stark’s, the newer stones sharp and gleaming. There was Robert’s, of course, and Renly’s, and between them an open spot for the current district attorney, Stannis, and his wife when their time came. Joffrey, as Robert’s son, should’ve been buried in that plot as well but Cersei had insisted her son be laid to rest in the Lannister’s area, far on the other side of the cemetery. It was fitting, Sansa supposed. There hadn't been any likeness between Joff and his father nor, she'd heard, any love lost.

Sansa had gone to see Cersei the day Joff’s body was discovered, feeling it was only appropriate. The greeting the Mayor had given her was cool at best. There was no sign of grief on Cersei’s face other than a slight tightness around the corners of her eyes and the agitated, nervous way her fingers wound around her handkerchief. Sansa wasn’t surprised; in the years she’d been seeing Joffrey Cersei had rarely been anything but cool, calm, and collected.

“Your brother is in my study.” Cersei had greeted her in the entry of her home. “He and his partner seem to think this is the proper time to question me about my son’s death, when he isn’t even cold yet.” Sansa hadn’t known what to say. A movement on the balcony above them caught her eye; little Tommen was crouched up there, his pudgy hands gripping the spindles while he stared at them. He’d been crying, his green eyes swollen and red, and for the first time that day Sansa’s heart had twisted. Tommen was a sweet boy, a far better son than Cersei deserved.

“I can sit with Tommen while you speak with them.” She’d offered, but Cersei had shaken her head.

“Tommen will be fine. His uncle and grandfather are on their way over. You may as well come with me. You were with Joff last night; I imagine these boy detectives will want to question you as well.” Cersei turned on her heel and started down the foyer. Sansa followed meekly, unable to avoid glancing into the parlor. It felt like years rather than hours since she’d woken up in that room, even though her body still stung in ways she didn’t want to think about. A black-clad maid was on her knees next to the couch, scrubbing where Sansa had spilled her drink, and she hurried past the room with her head down.

Robb and Theon were deep in conversation when they entered, and both looked surprised to see Sansa there. Robb recovered first and ushered Sansa to a rich leather armchair. Cersei crossed the room and took her seat behind an antique mahogany desk, folding her hands over it and gazing at the three of them over the wide berth of wood. “Now, detectives, you were saying?”

“Um…” Robb flipped through his little notepad and Sansa had to fight back the ridiculous urge to smile. She would never get used to seeing Robb in a grown-up sense. To her he’d always be the earnest big brother struggling to help her with her math homework or trying to get Rickon to eat his asparagus. Now he cleared his throat. “Given the state of your son’s...how your son was found, and the severity of the beating, we have reason to believe the person who did this was someone Joff knew. Did he have any enemies?”

This time Sansa had only barely been able to hide her incredulous laugh behind a cough. _Sad, you’re supposed to be sad._ Everyone who spoke to Joffrey Baratheon for more than five minutes was an enemy. Cersei leveled her cold emerald eyes at Sansa and her laughter shrivelled up. “My son had a strong personality, Detective. He was ambitious and dedicated and he did what was necessary to get what he wanted. Not everyone was his friend.”

“What about drugs?” Theon asked bluntly. A brief cloud flitted across Cersei’s features. Sansa had known Joffrey dabbled in opium on occasion, and a few other drugs she’d never asked about. Sansa remembered a handful of incidents where Joff, bleary-eyed and barely coherent, had insisted on racing his expensive import through the city streets, refusing to listen to her pleas for him to stop. She’d debated going to Cersei about it a few months ago, but wasn’t sure how the older woman would react. _Could she have stopped it?_ Joff was an adult, if only just, and had always been dismissive of his mother's attempts to discipline him.

“What about them, Detective?” Cersei picked her words carefully and froze them.

“Your son was found with enough smack on him to kill a horse, and God knows how much he’d already taken. ” Theon had never had any real subtlety and despite her flawless veneer, Cersei had flinched at that. After a minute she spoke.

“My son would never touch that filth. Let me make your job very easy for you, Detectives, so you don’t strain yourselves. Not everyone was Joffrey’s friend. In fact, some of the closest people to him were some of the most dangerous to him.” She leaned forward. “If I were you, I would look very, very hard at his driver. Sandor Clegane. The man has a notorious temper and if I suspected anyone on my household staff of drug use, it’d be him. In fact, Joffrey was considering dismissing him for just that reason. I would look there, or perhaps at someone closer than him.” Unless Sansa was imagining things, Cersei’s glanced flicked back to her and lingered this time. The grandfather in the corner bonged the hour and Cersei stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me I have a funeral to arrange, and I need to call my daughter at her boarding school in Dorne. If you need to speak with me further I trust you’ll make an appointment next time. Sansa, was there something you needed? You look unwell.”

Sansa’s stomach had started roiling at the suggested that she could have something to do with Joffrey’s death, and she’d shaken her head. “I just wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Consider them offered. Now, Detective Stark, I don’t suppose you can help your sister find her way out?” Without so much as a glance Cersei pulled a ledger towards her and picked up the phone on her desk.

As soon as they’d loaded themselves into the Rolls Robb and Theon had started shooting ideas about suspects back and forth and had paid little attention to Sansa in the back seat. She knew they didn’t consider her a suspect, so whatever game Cersei was trying to play there, she’d have to try harder. _But Sandor…_ He and Sansa had always had something of an odd dynamic between them. She’d caught him staring at her too many times to count, and sometimes he’d say things that led her to believe he looked at her as someone more than his charge’s sheba. Despite his appearance and demeanor, Sansa had always felt safe around Sandor. He’d been angry when he’d left Sansa the night before, she knew. _But angry enough to kill? And if so, would he have a clear enough mind to plant drugs on Joff?_

With a start Sansa realized she was standing in front of Joffrey’s grave. All of the Lannister headstones had been carved out of a heavy, red granite shot through with golden quartz that gleamed in the sunlight. The graves were neatly tended but bare, with none of the sentimental tokens or flowers found on other plots. Sansa stared at Joffrey’s name for a time, trying to conjure up something, some feeling about him, good or bad, and came up with nothing. “You deserved it,” she said out loud. “You deserved exactly what you got.”

* * *

Sansa didn’t want to go home after visiting the cemetery, and instead caught the bus to a small outdoor market in her neighborhood. She didn’t go to it often, and now she milled around the stalls for a bit. She was comfortably alone in a crowd of cooks and housewives, picking out a few items here and there. Once her pocketbook was empty there was nothing left for her to do but head home.

She was crossing Jasper Street, full of its little leaning shops and boutiques, when the sound of a dog barking caused her to glance up. An enormous, shaggy grey beast was sitting outside the general store, tail slapping against the sidewalk as it waited for its owner. It stood suddenly, and Sansa’s jaw dropped. The dog was the size of a small horse. Its head would come up to nearly her chest, and she had no doubt that if it really wanted, it could easily uproot the yew tree its leash was looped around.

For all the dog’s size, though, it started dancing and squirming like a puppy as the door swung open and a man walked out, a small crate under one arm and the other hand gripping a cane. Sansa blinked. _What on Earth is he doing here?_ The man glanced her way, did a double-take, and Sansa saw him smile. Much to her surprise her stomach fluttered in a way it hadn’t done in years, and she gave a shy smile back. Willas set the crate he was carrying in the back of a dilapidated black truck parked in front of the general store and picked up the dog’s leash, heading towards her.

“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” Willas asked as he approached.

Sansa nodded and held a hand out to the dog, who sniffed it tentatively. “I didn’t think you lived around here.”

“ I don’t. I’m a bit outside the city.” Willas lifted the flat cap he was wearing and resettled it on his hair. He was dressed more casually than Sansa had seen him, in worn corduroys and a faded chambray shirt that was open at the collar. There was something decidedly earthy about him today, and Sansa liked it. “I just know the fella who runs this general shop, and he gives me the best price on dog food around.”

“That crate looked awfully small if you’re feeding this one here.” Sansa scratched the giant hound behind the ears, encouraged when the dog’s tail started wagging.

“Ah, it’s not for him.” Willas ruffled the dog’s fur fondly. “It’s for the rest of my mutts at home. I just brought Seamus here because he was sleeping in the back of my truck and he’s too heavy for me to lift.”

“Seamus?” Sansa couldn’t help but smile.

“Seamus.” Willas nodded and straightened. “He’s an Irish Wolfhound, so I figured he needed an Irish name.”

“That makes sense.” Sansa shifted her bag of groceries. “He’s huge, I’ve never seen a dog this big before. My nieces and nephew could ride him.”

“Mine’ve tried. It didn’t go so well.” Willas grinned. He had a nice smile, Sansa realized. _A friendly smile in a friendly face._ He held out his free hand, Seamus’s leather leash wrapped around his wrist. “Here, let me give you a ride home.”

“That’d be wonderful.” Sansa’s answer surprised her. Friendly face or no, Willas was just this side of a stranger. “If it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.” Willas adjusted his grip on the leash and opened the passenger door for Sansa. “My lady.”

“Oh, hardly.” Sansa smiled. “I’m not taking Seamus’s spot, am I?”

“He’ll get over it.” Willas patted the bed of the truck. “C’mon, you old lug. Up with you.” With a mighty heave the dog jumped into the bed and settled onto his side with a huff. Willas climbed in the driver’s seat and flicked the ignition. Sansa settled back in the seat and toyed with the sleeve of her cardigan as Willas accelerated into traffic. _Say something. Something._ Any _thing._

“So do you have a lot of dogs?” _Not a bad start._

“A few.” Willas replied. “You?”

“I used to. We all used to. We all had huskies...mine was Lady. She was the nicest thing. Never jumped up on you, never barked inside, always played nice.” Sansa looked down at her hands. “She was so sweet.”

“What happened to her?”

Sansa pressed her lips together. “She was bitten by a racoon when I was eleven, and there was concern that the raccoon was rabid, so she had to be destroyed.” Her sweet, gentle Lady, shot like a common mutt. “My father was able to capture the raccoon that bit her. It didn’t have rabies. Lady would’ve been fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Willas said. “That’s a hard loss for an 11-year-old.”

“My brother and sister had it worse. Turn left here, and the right at the lights. Robb’s dog was hit by a truck right in front of him, and died in his arms. He was so upset...that Christmas my parents let him name the sailboat they’d just bought, and he named the boat after the dog but he still won’t talk about it to this day. Robb’s good at that...not talking about something when it really upsets him. Not like Arya. Hers ran away right around the same time Lady died and she went out looking for her every day for the entire summer. This is me, the brick one with the ivy.” Sansa pointed to her building. “My younger brothers still have theirs. Summer and Shaggydog.” Willas was staring at her, mouth slightly agape, and her cheeks blazed. “I’m sorry. That’s all sort of depressing, isn’t it.”

“Don’t tell Seamus that story. He’ll be inconsolable for weeks.” He shifted the truck into park. “Depressing doesn’t even start to cover it.”

Sansa cast about desperately for another topic. She knew she should thank Willas for the ride and go upstairs, but she found herself wanting to stay, or at least wanting him to not leave. “Do you...do you want to come upstairs? I made some lemonade this morning and it’s bound to be cool by now.” _What are you_ doing? _What if he thinks you’re trying to make a move on him? What if he gets up there and tries something with you? What if you say no and he doesn’t listen?_ Suddenly Sansa’s heart was pounding, but she couldn’t take back the invitation, could she? “To make up for all the talk of dead dogs but I understand if you can’t.”

Willas chuckled. “I’d love some. Which floor are you on?”

“The top one.” Sansa eyed Willas’s cane, wedged next to the floor-mounted gear shift and wondered how to phrase her next question. “It’s five flights...”

Willas followed her gaze and seemed to understand. “Don’t you worry about that. Five flights is nothing. Shall we?”

After giving a drowsing Seamus strict instructions to guard the truck, Willas followed Sansa up five flights of creaky, narrow stairs. He didn’t complain, but by the time they reached Sansa’s landing he looked clammy, and he was gripping his cane with white knuckles. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Sansa realized Willas was probably no threat to her, and slowly her stomach began to unknot itself. _He’s not Joff._  Slowly, Sansa unlocked her door and pushed it open. She ushered him in. “Here, sit, please.”

Willas set his hat on Sansa’s end table and sat. Sansa pretended not to see the way he rubbed his knee with a grimace and instead turned to pour two glasses of lemonade. Setting the pitcher back in her refrigerator, Sansa scanned the small space. There wasn’t much to offer; just some fruit and watercress. She'd only picked up a few small things today - a pack of Braunschweiger, some Jarlsburg Swiss cheese, a few onions, and a small loaf of rye bread. Robb and Arya had always teased her about her love of a good liverwurst sandwich. _Willas probably hates it. Everyone hates liverwurst._ _And you can't have_ onions _with company here. He'd run for the hills._ She hurriedly stuffed her bag of groceries next to the pitcher of lemonade and shut the door. “Are you hungry at all? I have some fresh fruit I can slice.”

“No, that’s alright. I’m fine with lemonade.” Willas accepted the glass she offered him with a smile. “I’m meeting Denys and my grandmother for dinner and she’ll know if I’ve ruined my appetite.”

“Heaven forbid.” Sansa sat on the other end of the couch, tucking her legs under her. “Are she and Denys happy with how the play’s going so far?”

“Gram is, for the most part. Poor Deny’s about to cast kittens, though. His seamstress broke her wrist and is having a lot of trouble getting the costumes done.” Willas took a sip of lemonade. “This is good, by the way. What’d you put in it?”

“Key lime juice. It makes it a little more tart.” Sansa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Does Denys need some help with the costumes?”

“More than ‘some’, I’d say. Do you know someone?”

“Just me. I used to alter my school uniforms and my brother’s to fit Arya, Rickon and Bran when we outgrew them. It wasn’t always pretty, but it got the job done.”  Sansa glanced out the window, glad she’d left it open. Her apartment was small; whoever had built it had merely taken a corner of the living room and put a tiny kitchen in it. Because of the small size, and the fact that it was, essentially, in the attic, it had a tendency to get hot during the day. Fortunately there was a cooling breeze coming in off the bay.

Right now though, she didn’t think Willas would’ve noticed if the room was on fire. He was looking at her with such a look of relief on his face she almost wondered if she misheard him. “You wouldn’t mind? The pay isn’t wonderful but it would be a way to earn a few extra clams.”

“Of course not. Just make sure he knows my name is Sansa, not Sarah.”

“He will, don’t you worry.” Willas set his glass down. “This is a nice little flat, by the way.”

“Thank you. It was kind of hard to get used to after living at my parent’s estate my whole life, but it’s nice. It’s quiet.” Sansa felt like she should be unnerved by the way Willas would watch her when she talked. It was unusual, to feel like she could let her guard down around someone. It had been so long since she'd had a conversation with someone who wasn't Jeyne or family.

“Why’d you move?”

“It was getting crowded. In addition to my sister and younger brothers, My older brother and his wife are living there, since the estate’ll go to Robb once my mother dies anyway. They’ve started their own family. Three kids in just as many years and...let’s see, Catie was born at Christmas, and it’s what, April?”

“The 24th.” Willas nodded.

Sansa tried to count out some dates in her head and quickly gave up. Math had never been her strong suit, and she’d given up on it a long time ago. She could balance her checkbook, and that was enough for her. “I’d wager Roslin’ll have another baby by the end of January, then.”

“Good grief. Well, children bring a certain...levity to things. When my brother brings his over to visit it certainly makes my house seem smaller. Otherwise I can go days without seeing my mother or Gram, and if I didn’t see the fresh flowers my mother will pick all over the place I’d think I lived alone. Well. I say 'my house' but it's my grandmother's.”

"Have you ever thought about moving to the city?"

"Sure." Willas nodded. "If my wife wanted to, absolutely. I love the city."

Something jagged in Sansa's chest. "So you're married then?"

Willas smiled, maybe a little sadly, and shook his head. "No. Came close a few times. Very close. Never seemed to make it down the aisle though." He glanced at her. "A little pitiful, isn't it."

"No!" Sansa exclaimed. She thought about how people used to talk about her and Joffrey's wedding as if it was a done deal. One of the smaller papers in Kingsport had actually referred to her as his fiancee when reporting on his death. Cersei had made them print a retraction. The paper had gone under shortly thereafter. Sansa had heard Mya telling Roslin that Cersei had been involved in it somehow.  "I'd rather wait for the right person than be stuck with someone who isn't right."

Willas was still looking at her, something moving in his warm eyes. "No...it wasn't ever right. So, here I am, still living at home. My Gram despairs at the thought of it. She likes to remind me that by the time my father was my age he was happily married with four kids. I like to remind her that if I wasn't around she'd have no one to pick up the fertilizer for her flowers."

“Flowers…” Sansa sighed a bit wistfully. “I do miss having a green space. I tried growing a fern, but I left it too close to the radiator over the winter and it just sort of...ungrew.”

“Ungrew?” Willas raised his eyebrows, amused.

Sansa nodded. “I swear it just shrivelled up and went back into the ground. Do you enjoy gardening, then?”

Willas waggled a hand. “I enjoy walking through them. My Gram is the one who’s really gung-ho about her flowers. Roses, especially. And she’s good at it. She thinks I need to get out more. I don’t have enough of a social life for her.”

Sansa had to laugh. She crossed her ankles, feeling ridiculous for thinking Willas would ever be a threat to her. “They’re overrated, social lives. When I was young, I had some function or another to go to every other night, it seemed like. It got boring.”

“What do you mean, when you were young?” Willas leaned in a little with a teasing smile. “You’re still young.”

There was no arguing with that. “Fine. When I was younger. Regardless, I’d take roses over a social life any day of the week. They sound lovely.”

Willas tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you like to see them sometime?”

“I…” Sansa blinked. “I would, actually. And your dogs.”

“Really?” Willas’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas. “I wish I hadn’t promised Denys and Gram I’d meet them today. I’d take you now.”

His earnestness was endearing, and Sansa’s smile started to feel more natural. She rested her hand on his wrist. “It’s alright. What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’d be fine. I can pick you up around three? And tonight I’ll talk to Denys about you helping with the costumes.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Sansa smiled as their gazes met, and she felt her cheeks flush. Again, she felt like she should say something, but her mind was blank. “Would...would you like more lemonade?”

Before Willas could respond, there was a series of resounding, deep barks from the street in front of the building. Willas laughed once and twisted his hat in his hands. “I would love some, but I only get one warning shot with Seamus. Next one, he’s breaking down your door and I doubt your landlord would like that too much.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Sansa agreed. “So...until tomorrow, then?”

“Until tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

The view from Willas’s driveway was breathtaking. The Tyrell estate was surrounded by rolling hills, newly green and looking soft as silk. Kingsport was little more than a smudge on the northeastern horizon, while not far to her east the ocean glittered blue. The house itself was brick, covered in ivy, a large fountain set in the arch of the curved driveway. The mist coming off it caught the sunlight, casting a faint rainbow. Sansa inhaled, turning slowly. The air even smelled sweeter this far out of the city, fresh and clean and soft in her chest. A soft breeze puffed across the coastal grasses, tugging at her hat. She’d spent more time than she normally would dressing for today, tossing aside one outfit after another before she finally settled on a lilac-colored dress Jeyne had given to her last year. It had been a long time since she'd wanted to look nice for someone.

Willas slammed the driver’s side door of his truck and came to stand beside her. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to leave.” Sansa breathed, and then blushed. “It’s gorgeous out here. It’s so quiet, quieter than Riverrun, even. And the ocean’s so close.”

“Wait till you see the garden.” There was no mistaking the pride in Willas’s voice, and Sansa didn’t blame him. He had every right to want to show off his land. He touched her elbow lightly. “C’mon. You’ll love it. And Seamus is excited to see you again.”

“Well, so am I.” Sansa smiled as Willas led her to the house. It was a massive Tudor, the kind Sansa had always pictured in her fairy tales, and so were the weeping willows dotting the front yard. They swayed gently in the breeze, the leaves silver-green and fluttering. She reached out and let her fingers trail through the leaves as they walked under the tree, and smiled. “There are willows like this along the river at my mother’s house. When I was little I’d sit under them and read and be able to hide for hours without Arya or Bran or Rickon finding me.”

“They are fantastic hiding spots.” Willas agreed. “When we were all young Garlan and I would hide up in them. Margie and Loras could never find us but they were never half as good at climbing trees as we were. Margie’s too prissy and Loras never wanted to do anything Margaery wasn’t doing.” Chuckling, he pulled open the thick oaken front door and ushered her through. “Quickest way is through the house.”

Sansa looked around. The front entryway was full of heavy, dark wood but instead of feeling small and closed, the space felt safe and strong, like it had stood for a thousand years and would stand a thousand more. A wide staircase curved out of sight, and the chandelier gave off a warm glow. At one end of the large foyer was an 8-sided sitting room with glass walls, brilliantly lit. Willas led her past it, through an archway that led to a much narrower hallway. This one was lined on either side with framed pictures, and Sansa took a moment to stop and look at some of them. One of them showed two young parents, finely dressed and clearly in love. The mother was holding a chubby, smiling infant in her lap.

“Is that you?” Sansa asked. “How darling!”

Willas bobbed his head bashfully. “It is, yes. I think I was….eight months old then?  My mother calls that picture one of her last moments of peace. Garlan came along six months later, and then Loras and Margaery a few years later.”

“Goodness.” Sansa laughed a tad breathlessly. Her own siblings were far more spaced out. “I can’t imagine.”

They continued down the hall, the pictures getting more and more recent. They painted a portrait of a close family - very few of the frames held only one person. There were shots around a Christmas tree, in the gardens, on vacation somewhere deep in the mountains, on horseback, always together, always smiling. There were several of the father, Mace, standing next to an enormous printing press with Margaery on one side and the boys on the other. Their faces were beaming, proud. Towards the middle of the hall Sansa noticed an abrupt change - Willas’s appearances grew fewer and fewer. He suddenly sported a brace on his leg, and gripped his now-familiar cane.  _ He was so young, _ Sansa realized. He looked hardly older than Bran. Sixteen, maybe fifteen. 

“I was seventeen.” Willas said, and Sansa realized she was staring at the picture, having stopped in the middle of the hall. 

She folded her arms across her stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Willas waved off her apology. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet. It’s no tragic tale or anything like that.” He nodded towards the French doors at the end of the hall, and they continued. “I was seventeen, and attending a boarding school overseas. They had a polo team, and a good one at that. I’d always enjoyed playing when I was living at home, so I joined.” They’d reached the end of the hallway. He pushed open the doors to usher her outside. “We had a match against a rival school one weekend during my last year, a big match. I’d been chosen as the captain that year,  and I wanted to win. So did the other team, imagine that. So their captain and I played...maybe more aggressively than we normally would have. Our horses collided, and mine went down. The other captain was able to jump away, but my leg got twisted in the saddle. It was crushed when my horse fell. Broke my leg in four places, and my pelvis in two.”

Sansa stared, her mouth slightly open. “You could’ve died.”

“I almost did, truth be told. I was laid up, plastered from the waist down for six months. My father was furious. He wanted to sue the rival school, but I managed to convince him not to. It was just as much my fault as it was Oberyn’s - the other captain. It took a long, long time, but eventually I could walk again, and here we are.” Sansa’s hand had crept into the crook of his elbow, natural as could be and entirely without her knowledge. He glanced down at it and smiled. “And here we are.” His voice was quiet, as if he was speaking to himself. Willas cleared his throat and nodded ahead of them. 

“Oh,  _ Willas. _ ” The scene before Sansa was breathtaking. They stood on a large flagstone patio, a wide, shallow staircase leading down to the garden. It was surrounded by towering, leafy trees, sunlight trickling down. The garden stretched on, filled to overflowing with roses, lilies, hollyhocks...more flowers than Sansa could name, bushes, blooming cherry and apple trees. At the far end was an arbor, and a path of white gravel meandered through the lush greenery and curved around a still, lily-filled pond. “This is beautiful!”

“I’m fond of it,” he admitted. As they walked he reached out to pluck a flawless white rose from its bush and handed it to her. “A rose for a rose.” He shook his head. “That was terrible. I’m sorry.”

Sansa smiled and lifted the flower to her nose, inhaling. “It’s not, it’s...sweet. And the rose is beautiful.”

Willas smiled his boyish smile, and they continued through the garden at some length in a companionable silence. Sansa was surprised at how comfortable she felt with Willas now. She had a very small circle of people she cared about; she kept them wrapped close like a blanket. It was entirely too easy to see herself letting the circle grow now. Maybe it was because of the time they’d spent together, or how open and easy his laugh was. As they walked she found herself wondering what she would do if he returned her simple touch; put his arm around her shoulders maybe, or a hand on her lower back. A small touch, the same one she’d seen Robb give to Roslin, or Theon to Mya, countless times.  _ But they’re married.  _ She gave herself a mental shake and tried to steer her thoughts towards safer waters. “Where’s Seamus? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Let’s see.” Willas lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. Towards the middle of the garden a large hydrangea bush rustled and Seamus’s enormous, shaggy head popped out of a cluster of leaves. His ears pricked at the sight of Willas, causing the man to sigh. “Brace yourself.”

Seamus erupted out of the hydrangea bush, galumphing toward Sansa and Willas. Sansa laughed as he bounded towards them, ducking behind Willas as the dog leaped at them. He could easily put his paws on Willas’s shoulders, but Willas didn’t so much as stumble.

“Easy, boy!” Willas laughed. “I’m happy to see her too but you don’t see me jumping all over her!” The corners of his eyes were crinkling as he laughed. He looked so carefree. “It’s ok, I promise. He’s really just a big teddy bear.”

Sansa smiled and ruffled Seamus’s enormous grey head. She was by no means a short woman, and the dog’s head came up to her hip. “I know he is. He’s just a big ol’ sweetie pie.”

Willas managed to get control of the giant dog, attaching a leash he pulled from his pocket to the dog’s thick leather collar. “He’s just jealous because he’s not the only child he wants to be.”

“You have other dogs?” Sansa looked up at Willas. “Where are they?”

“Well, it’s the middle of a beautiful spring day so I would wager they’re sprawled out on my bed, sleeping.”

Sansa smiled, imagining a large, lush bed piled high with dogs and Willas buried in them, and then felt her cheeks burn at the image that popped up in her head: one of her and Willas, happily curled around each other, being woken by chubby hands and children’s laughter.  _ We’d have three, at least, or four, with big brown eyes and red curls and- _

“Sansa?” Willas startled her out of her reverie. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine!” Sansa forced herself to laugh, mortified to be caught in such a ridiculous daydream.  _ That’s not for you. _ “The sun just got in my eyes.”

“It does that. C’mon, let’s go somewhere more shaded.” Willas led her through the garden. At the back of it she saw where the driveway curved around the house, leading to a long, low garage. She looked up at Willas, trying to keep her mind off that damning image in her mind, and he just gave her a small smile. “We just had a litter of pups born last week. They’re pretty adorable.” He pulled open a side door and ushered her in.

“You breed them?” Sansa asked in surprise. The building was impeccably clean, and had clearly stalled horses at one time. The sweet smell of hay still lingered somewhere under motor oil and gas. There was one car parked in it, some sleek older one. Gendry’d be able to name it, or Robb. There was room for at least two more cars, a dark oil stain on the floor. There was a door on the far end, propped open and with an odd assortment of brooms, shovels, and other tools piled outside. Sansa hadn’t spent any more time in the garages at Riverrun than she had to, and she supposed one was very much like the next, but the familiarity was somehow comforting.

“My brother breeds them and sells them. I just keep the rejects.” Willas nodded towards the far room. “Go take a look.”

Sansa had been about to ask him what he meant by the ‘rejects’ as she crossed the garage. The room was quiet and dimly lit, empty save for a few large crates and food bowls. In one of the crates she heard a quiet snuffling, a few soft whimpers. Once her eyes adjusted to, she saw a large, wiry-haired dog laying on a pile of blankets, a mass of wriggling puppies all working to get at their mother’s teat. “They’re adorable! Are they wolfhounds like Seamus?”

Willas nodded, kneeling a bit stiffly to pat the mother dog’s head when her tail flapped against the bottom of her crate. “There’s a good girl, Cora. Yes, you did good. And yes, they are. They’re Seamus’s siblings. Well, half-siblings, actually.” His eyes lit on a small mass a ways away from the rest of the puppies, and he picked it up. “Here we go. There’s always one.”

“What?” Sansa swept her skirt under her knees and knelt next to him, heedless of the dirty floor. 

Willas held out his arms and Sansa nearly gasped. A tiny puppy was cradled in his grasp, making small whimpering noises. It snuffled around his hands, looking for warmth, nourishment, its mother’s scent, and Sansa felt her heart break. “It’s so little.”

“It’s the runt. The rest of the litter forced it away from their mother so it can’t get anything to eat.” Willas rubbed a thumb over the puppy’s back and it lifted its head with a squeak. “Nothing to eat, no affection…normally I’d’ve had Cora whelp in the house where I could keep an eye on her. But she likes her privacy. Here, do you want to hold her?”

Sansa nodded and cradled the pup in her hands. It was feather-light and trembling, and she could feel her small, frantic breaths. She drew it close to her chest. “What’s going to happen to her?”

Willas shrugged and climbed to his feet, gripping his cane. “Garlan will find homes for the healthier pups. I’ll make sure she gets fed and is kept warm till she can make it on her own. Give her here, I’ll show you.”

Sansa handed over the puppy and stood. When she straightened Willas was carefully cradling the dog, petting it gently. “He doesn’t care what happens to the smaller ones? That’s awful.”

“He’s not, not really. He’s actually very nice - you’d probably like him.” Willas started back towards the garage door. “He’s just practical. There’s always a weakling in every litter. He’s got his hands full selling the healthier ones, and doesn’t have time to spend on the runts. That’s how Garlan thinks. I happen to feel otherwise - just because something’s smaller or maybe a little weaker, or not picture perfect, that doesn’t mean that they should be ignored. I’ll bottle-feed this little girl until she’s a little older.” He looked at her again, tilting his head slightly. “You ever feed a baby?”

Sansa thought about the hours she’d spent helping her mother with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. More recently it had been Eddie and Beth and on occasion, Rodrik and Quenton. “Once or twice.”

Ten minutes later Sansa smiled down at the way the puppy was suckling eagerly from the bottle Willas had prepared, while the man himself sat next to her at the wrought-iron patio table. “You’re a natural.”

“I’ve got three younger siblings. Besides, she’s doing all the work.” Sansa laughed as the puppy pawed at her, eagerly sucking the last drops. “Oh, you precious thing! Willas, you’re sure she’ll be alright?” Unable to help herself, she lifted the small mass to her cheek. “She’s so soft.”

Willas watched her with a soft, amused look in his eyes. “She’ll need a lot of special care but…”

His hand slid across the table, his fingers brushing the back of hers. She looked down at that tiny square inch of contact. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to tuck her hand into his, to see if his touch made her feel as safe as his presence did. Despite that, her fingers refused to move. Sansa looked over at him and felt an odd flush as their eyes met.  “But what?”

“I think she’s worth it.”

Sansa’s cheeks blazed. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.” Willas gazed at her a moment longer, seemingly mulling something over in his mind. “Listen, I wanted to ask you this before. I’d like to-”

Whatever Willas wanted to do was swallowed by the roar of an engine coming around the back of the house. The puppy in Sansa’s arms stirred, lifting her small head as a long, sleek car slowed to a stop. She glanced at the driver, and turned her attention back to Willas. “I’m sorry, what were you asking?”

His expression was one of tightly controlled frustration as he drummed his fingers on the table. “Nevermind.”

The driver climbed out of the car, shielding his eyes against the sun. He was handsome,  well-dressed in light trousers, a soft green shirt, and black suspenders. His pale blonde hair was casually swept back, and when his eyes lit on Sansa and Willas he grinned. 

“Afternoon, Speedy!” He trotted up the stone steps to the patio. “Your mother know you have girls over when she’s not here, Will?”

Sansa watched Willas’s face carefully, surprised at the expression on it. She’d never seen him anything but happy, or at least content. Now his eyes were narrowed slightly, and she could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek. For whatever reason, this visitor had him irritated. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured as he stood. “Wasn’t expecting to see you, Leo.”

“The boiler in my guest house has gone out again. Your brother said you had some spare parts for one laying around in the garage.”

For a moment Willas looked nonplussed. “Since when do you do your own repairs?”

Leo snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. They just don’t make this model anymore. My repairman doesn’t even have the parts he needs.” His eyes flicked over Willas’s shoulder at Sansa, his smirk growing. “I could use a hand finding these parts, though.”

“You can call Garlan then. I’m sure he knows where they are, and I’ve got company. As you can see.” Willas’s tone was polite but strained, his grip on his cane tight. Sansa had the feeling this sort of conversation had happened before. 

“Yes, I  _ can _ see.” Tucking his hands in his pockets, Leo strolled across the patio, a catty smile on his lips.  _ Who  _ is _ this man? _ Sansa wondered incredulously. He had the kind of attitude she despised - one that would let a man stroll into any room, any situation, and use a combination of charm and condescension to bend it to his will. It left a familiar, bitter taste in the back of her throat. Leo sat in the seat across from Sansa’s, the one Willas had been in, and half-rose to extend his hand. “Sorry. Leo Tyrell. Willas’s...oh, let’s say cousin. His grandmother is my father’s something-or-other and somehow we’re from the same family tree.”

Behind Leo, Willas looked mortified and apologetic at once. After growing up with Arya, it was a feeling Sansa knew well. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she grasped Leo’s hand, shifting her grip on the now-sleeping puppy in her lap. She’d kept herself somewhat reclusive recently, but she still had years of finely-tuned social graces in her. Now, they resurfaced reflexively. “Sansa Stark.”

Leo’s handshake was surprisingly flimsy. "We've met once before, two years ago or so." Sansa felt her smile wilt just slightly, and Leo chuckled. "St. Aegon's was holding a fundraiser for a new children's wing. You were wearing...oh, what was it...celadon. My girl said your dress was celadon. She was jealous - she’s a redhead like you but she can't pull off the color. It was the night the Mayor’s son died."

All at once that night came flooding back, turning the comfortable spring day icy cold. "Oh...of course, the fundraiser. I'm sorry, I honestly don't remember too much from that night." It was the truth. She’d been exhausted before she even left the house that night and the dinner had passed in a blur of loud music and questionable food. Any acquaintances she’d met had quickly been forgotten.

“I was still a med student back then,” Leo went on conversationally. Sansa saw Willas grit his teeth and ease down into his chair. His cane was resting over his knees, and she had the fleeting impression he wanted to bash it over his cousin’s head. He massaged his forehead, casting an apprehensive, annoyed look towards an oblivious Leo, who’d kept talking. “In fact, I was doing a rotation in the morgue when they brought him in. He looked like he’d been dragged behind a train.” He pulled an elegant cigarette case out of his pocket and held a cigarette in his teeth as he lit it.. “A real mess.”

Sansa sat frozen in her chair, fingers wrapped in the puppy's short fur, unable to respond. Today wasn't supposed to go like this. Couldn't she have one day, just one, without Joffrey leering at her from beyond the grave? “I remember that.” Even to her her voice sounded like she was being strangled. Both Tyrell men glanced at her; Leo with dim curiosity, Willas with unabashed concern. She cleared her throat and adjusted her grip on the puppy. “We were seeing each other. Nearly engaged, actually.”

"Oh." Leo had the decency to look embarrassed. " My condolences then. They said it was his driver...?"

"They did." Every fiber of Sansa's being was begging her to run, was cursing Joffrey for ruining today. It was a struggle to keep her voice even. She hazarded a glance at Willas, swallowing hard against the unexpected lump in her throat. He leaned forward, taking one of her hands in both of his.  _ Today was going so well. _

“Leo,” he said, his eyes never leaving Sansa’s. “Go get your boiler parts. And then leave.”

Leo started to reply, stopped, and stood. “I’ll just call Garlan to help me out.”

“You do that.”

As soon as Leo had started down the patio stairs Willas knelt in front of Sansa’s chair, brushing his thumb across her cheek to catch a tear she hadn’t felt fall. She didn’t miss the brief flash of pain cross his face as he knelt. “Sansa-”

“I’m sorry.” She broke in. It felt like there was a cannonball in her stomach. It was a wretched feeling, one she hadn’t had since Joff was alive. It was one she’d hoped to never feel again. Joff had berated her any time she showed so much as a flicker of disagreement with him, so much so that apologizing became second nature to her. She’d thought she’d broken the habit. “I'm being silly-”

Willas shook his head, taking her hand again. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Leo’s just a lazy, worthless ass. He talked about medical school like it was a thing of the past - he’s been in it for seven years. And the end’s not in sight.” 

“You don’t like him.”

“No one likes him. He takes a special pleasure in making everyone around him feel miserable. He doesn’t normally do it straight out of the gate like that.” WIllas’s smile was tired and tight. He cupped her face, his dark eyes searching hers for a long moment before abruptly pulling his hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about you and Joffrey.”

“It’s alright.” She didn’t want to talk about Joff, not here, not ever. Willas idly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Distantly she realized his touch was steadier than she’d thought it would be. Steady and calming. Some of the afternoon warmth began to ease back into her, the knot in her stomach starting to dissolve.  _ He’s dead. You saw him go into the ground. _ With a jolt she realized she’d let Willas crouch before her, no doubt uncomfortably. “Please, sit. Your leg...”

“It’s been in worse positions.” Willas flashed a quick grin as he resettled in his chair. He nodded at the puppy still nestled in Sansa’s lap. “She’s a sound sleeper.”

Sansa smiled and cradled the dog to her chest, grateful for the change of subject. Willas, no doubt, had questions and the fact that he wasn’t asking them made relief flood through Sansa. The puppy whimpered and nuzzled her ear. “She certainly is. You’re sure she’ll make it?”

“I have no doubt.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“He  _ loooooves _ you.” Jeyne grinned at Sansa. They were backstage at the theater, in the small side-room that had been designated as the wardrobe department. The space was lined with moveable clothing racks, each one laden with dresses, shirts, pants, a set of donkey’s ears, all in various states of completion. Tissue-paper patterns, scribbled with notes, were tacked onto the walls, and dress forms stood in awkward poses, some with half-finished costumes pinned onto them. Sansa sat at a  rickety folding table, covered in piles of fabrics. Jeyne was idly rifling through the costumes, pulling one out here or there to hold up to herself in the mirror. Rehearsal had ended some time ago, but Sansa had decided to stay back and try to catch up on some of the costumes. Jeyne had stayed, pressing her for information about her visit at the Tyrell estate. “He wants to marry you.”

“Oh Jeyne, stop!” Sansa’s cheeks were burning. Her needle slipped through the skirt she was hemming, jabbing her finger. “Ouch…”

“What? It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” Jeyne put the cape she’d tried on back on the clothing rack. “Which one of these is mine?”

“Uh…” Sansa scanned the rack, then the table before her. “That one.” She pointed to a pile of pink and white chiffon and silk. “It’s not quite done yet.”

“Done? It’s not quite started yet.” Jeyne picked up the chiffon and let it run through her fingers. “We’re all pink?”

“Peaseblososm is pink. Mustardseed is going to wear yellows and oranges - Mariah’s so tan, she won’t have a problem with it. Moth...I decided she’d be dark blue and purple with a little grey, since you usually see moths at night.”

“ _ You _ decided?” Jeyne arched her eyebrows. “They’re letting you make decisions?”

Sansa looked at her hands. “I didn’t quite run it by the seamstress. Or Deny.”

“That’s bold.” Jeyne leaned against the table. “What’re you wearing?”

“Grey, I suppose.” Sansa sighed. “I may as well go roll around in the attic at my mother’s house.”

“Oh, don’t be so  _ uninspired. _ ” Jeyne dug through a pile of fabric, emerging with a long crystal necklace. “Here, we could wrap you in these! You know how spiderwebs sparkle in the morning?”

“I do.”  _ Willas said they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. _ The memory brought a small smile to her face. “I can’t go prancing around the stage in nothing but a necklace.”

“Of course you can. Imagine the ticket sales.” Jeyne set the necklace down. “C’mon. It’s late, everyone else has gone home. Come to the cafe with me and tell me more about how much he loves you.”

Sansa looked at the enormous pile of alterations that needed to be done. The head seamstress had begrudgingly turned over much of her work to Sansa so she could let her wrist heal, and now Sansa was starting to worry she wouldn’t get it all done.  _ If I could take it home... _ but no. The seamstress had forbidden her from removing any of the pieces from the theater. It meant that Sansa would have to spend most of her days, not to mention her evenings, in the wardrobe department. Right now, it was nearly seven o’clock in the evening, and Sansa had been there since shortly after nine. “I’ll come, but he’s not in love with me.”

Jeyne cackled and adjusted the silky scarf she’d wrapped around her neck. It was dark purple, complimenting her smooth, golden skin in ways that made Sansa jealous. She looped her arm through Sansa’s and practically dragged her to the back door. “Come on, then.”

“Just let me lock up or else Denny will have my head.” Denys Tyrell had given her a key to the theater, mainly so he wouldn’t have to wait for her to finish up her work at night. Sansa had thought that being able to lock herself in when she was staying late would make her feel safer. It didn’t. The theater was old, and the building made noises she didn’t hear during the day. She thought suddenly of Seamus and how much better she’d feel with that giant lug around.  _ Or even Lady. She was so sweet though, she’d never hurt anyone. _ Her heart clenched and she was glad her back was to Jeyne.  _ She deserved better. _ She unfastened the pincushion she’d strapped around her wrist and took a breath. “Let’s go.”

Jeyne’s favorite cafe was small, dark, and  was frequented by an artistic crowd Sansa never understood, and never felt comfortable around. The walls were stark, save for a few angular paintings in bold primary colors. Supposedly they were worth thousands, if not more. Sansa didn’t understand why - she’d seen Bran and Rickon produce far more interesting pieces when they were in nursery school. 

They wove through the cramped space until they reached their usual table. Jeyne sat, propping her chin in her hand. “So after you two get hitched will you move in with him or will you two get your own place? Living with your mother-in-law would be daunting, I’d think. And his  _ grandmother. _ ”

“Oh Jeyne, stop!” Her voice was louder than she anticipated and now Sansa’s cheeks were burning. A few haughty-looking artist types looked over in her direction, miffed that her outburst had interrupted their conversation. Scented smoke drifted up from their cigarettes, the tips glowing orange. Sansa glanced down at her hands. Every time they came here the other patrons would look at her scornfully, as if her mere presence offended them. It was like being in a room full of Cersei Lannisters. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, forget them” Jeyne waved a hand. “Snobs, all of ‘em.” She tugged at her scarf again, and Sansa gasped. There was a hickey nearly the size of a fist on the side of it.  _ No wonder she picked dark purple. _

“What happened to your neck?”

“Hm? Oh,” Jeyne had the good grace to look guilty. “Beric. He got a little enthusiastic. You should see the one he left on my...oh, it’d probably offend your delicate sensibilities. He says he’s been close to death so many times in his line of work, it makes him appreciate the finer things in life.”

Sansa almost fought off the urge to roll her eyes. If hearing about Jeyne’s private activities kept her from planning Sansa’s imaginary wedding, though, she could stomach it. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

“Oh I am not. We’re just having a little fun.”

“Jeyne, it looks like he used a vacuum hose on your neck,” Sansa glanced up at an approaching waitress. She and Jeyne were here so often the staff knew their orders - lemon curd cake for Sansa, and blueberry pie with cream for Jeyne.

“It helps relieve stress. You know how uptight your brother and Theon get. Beric’s the same way,” Jeyne shrugged and swiped some cream off her pie. “Why d’you think your brother has so many kids?”

“Ugh, please,” Sansa scrunched up her eyes to ward off the image of her brother  _ in flagrante _ . It was bad enough the walls at Riverrun hadn’t been nearly as thick as she’d’ve liked. 

“Stop being such a ninny,” Jeyne dug through her handbag and pulled out her cigarette case. “Y’know, maybe you need to have a little fun. To help you relax.” She grinned, razor sharp. “I’m sure Willas would be more than happy to help you out.”

Sansa opened her mouth to respond but the words stuck in her throat. She could still feel Willas’s touch against her cheek, her fingers. It had felt as good as she’d hoped it would. That, in itself, was unexpected. But if something as simple as Willas taking her hand made her cheeks flush like they were, what else might he be able to do? Ever since Joff she hadn’t wanted to be touched and now she didn’t know her own mind on the matter.

Across the small table Jeyne hooted with laughter. “Oh, if you could  _ see _ your face! Red as a stoplight!”

Sansa slunk down in her chair, her stomach in knots. The other patrons were starting to stare again and being stared at was as bad as being touched. “Don’t-”

“Oh, honey, relax. He’s a handsome man. And he seems like a real sweetheart. It’s only natural.” Jeyne’s dark eyebrows knit together. “Although...he’s got a bum leg, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Sansa nodded. “It was a polo accident.”

“Right, right. I wonder if he can even...y’know, perform.”

“Alright.” Sansa threw her napkin down and got to her feet. Sometimes Jeyne’s mind would go to the most inappropriate places at the worst times. “I’m going home.”

“Sansa, wait.” Jeyne threw a few bills down on the table and followed Sansa as she nearly ran out of the cafe. “C’mon, I was just joshin’ ya, no need to blow your wig.” She caught up with Sansa, tucking her arm in the crook of her elbow. “Listen, I’m sorry, yeah? You’re my best friend. All I want is for you to be happy, and I think Willas could be the one to make that happen. It’s been years since Joffrey. I know you two were close, and I know you loved him but maybe it’s time to...y’know, move on.”

That wasn’t it, not at all. Jeyne was Sansa’s closest friend, and had been for as long as she could remember. They’d been born days apart. They’d shared everything, every mundane little detail of their lives for twenty years.  _ Everything except the truth. _ Sansa had never told anyone, not even Jeyne, what Joff done to her. She couldn’t.  _ Sandor knew and he never said a word.  _

She shook her head. “I’m not ready yet.”  _ It’s not entirely a lie. _

Jeyne sighed and rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “Don’t wait too long. I miss the way you used to be.”

Sansa’s chest grew tight.  _ So do I. _

* * *

 

Sansa had attended Joff’s funeral alone. While her mother and Robb wanted to be supportive, Sansa couldn’t in good conscience ask them to attend the funeral of someone who belonged to the family behind her father’s death. She didn’t even want to go and in retrospect, she wasn’t sure anyone even noticed she was there. Sansa hadn’t even ridden with Cersei and little Tommen in their limousine. Robb had relented in his pledge to keep Sansa from driving, and had let her borrow his car. 

As the droning funeral rites drew to a close, she glanced over her shoulder. The cemetery was large, and the Lannister plot was on the opposite side of where she’d parked. She wouldn’t be able to leave without being seen, unless she took the long gravel path that wound around the cemetery, through the wooded copse in the center, near where her own family’s dead lay, and came up on the back end of the parking lot. There was no one looking now - people were clumping around Cersei, murmuring words of hollow comfort. Adjusting her dark hat, she slipped away from the crowd, ducking into the shadows of the trees at the first opportunity.

The sounds of the mourners grew muffled and fainter the further away she moved. Sansa stopped in the middle of the grove, taking a deep breath. The air was sweet with the first hints of fall, the wind quiet as it wove through the pine trees. Her father had loved the woods. Every summer when they’d go up to Winterfell, he’d wander for hours in the thick forests surrounding the home. Sometimes he’d take some of the kids with, other times not. She’d never been as much of an outdoorsy person as her brothers and sister, couldn’t stand the dirt. The few times she’d gone, he’d pointed out flowers - wood violets, lady’s slippers, lilies of the valley, a dozen others. Once she’d seen a doe and her two fawns. Another, fresh bear tracks.  _ You should’ve gone with him more. _ Sansa had traced the silver filigree on her emerald necklace, feeling her eyes well.  _ You should’ve done everything with him more. _

She smelled the musk of old cigarettes at the same time a hand clamped over her mouth. “Don’t scream,” a voice growled. “You don’t want that lot hearing you. Understand?”

Her heart in her throat, Sansa nodded and was released. When she turned she couldn’t have screamed even if she wanted to. “Wh-what are you  _ doing _ here?”

Sandor Clegane stood before her, a hulking anomaly in the green wood. In the shadows the burned half of his face was hidden. “Wanted to see the little shit go into the ground. Doubt his mother’d let me sit with them.” His tone was sarcastic, but it was lost on her.

Sansa grasped for words, remembering the last time she’d seen him. It had only been a matter of days, but it felt like months. Years. “My brother’s looking for you.”

“Whole bleedin’ city’s looking for me.”

“Did you do it?” Sansa blurted out. “Did you…”

Sandor gave her a look that landed somewhere between amusement and mocking disbelief. “What do you think?”

For a moment Sansa couldn't even think. She knew Sandor had been in the Lannister’s employ for years - since before Joffrey’d been born. There were times she thought he’d been more of a role model to Joff than his own father. “I don’t-...you  _ couldn’t _ have.”

“I sure as shit could have. You could have too, given a chance.” Sandor held a toothpick between his teeth, seeming to mull something over in his head. He spat before he spoke. “It’s better you don’t know.”

“I have to,” she replied before she could stop herself. Sandor’s expression was unreadable. It made Sansa feel exposed nevertheless. His dark eyes held hers, burning into her and she took a step back.  _ He knows everything Joff ever did to you. _ The realization washed over her in a hot pulse of shame.  _ What must he think of you that you let it happen?  _ “Please,” she whispered. She couldn’t look at him anymore. What right did she have to ask anything more of him?

“After I took you home I went to scrape him out of whatever gutter he’d landed in. He was down at the docks, in one of the drunk dens, hopped up on something or other. Took a few swings at me when I hauled him out of there.” He paused at the sound of cars engines rumbling to life. “I’d had enough. 20 years of dealing with his shit. You only had what, three? Next time he swung at me I swung back a few times. He went down, hit the back of his head on the edge a’ one of them big rope spools.I left ‘im there. He was still breathing when I left. I went straight home, didn’t hear about him till the next morning. I didn’t  _ mean _ for it to happen. Just lost my temper.” He eyed her. Silence hung between them, long and frayed. “Suppose you’re going to run off to your brother now.”

Growing up, her father had instilled a strong sense of duty and honesty in her. She’d dutifully gone to confession monthly, never even cheated on a test, and reported anything her siblings did that she deemed suspicious. It had earned her many kicks to the shin from Rickon, Bran, and Arya, and designations of nark and tattle-tale by the time she was 10. As she’d grown up, things had become less black and white and more grey. The concept of right and wrong became more malleable. Looking up at Sandor, with his half-burned face and slumped, broad shoulders, it grew a little greyer. “No.”

Sandor had merely snorted, looking away. “‘S not like I’ve never seen the inside of a jail cell before.”

“I mean it. I’m not.” Sansa fingered her pendant again. “I...owe you that. He was a horrible person and you…” Their gazes met and the shadows they stood in grew colder.

“And me?” His voice had grown hoarser than normal. The expression in his eyes was the same one she’d seen countless times before - some mix of regret, anger and unacknowledged longing. It had usually made her feel uncomfortable, and she’d usually ignored it. It was easier than unpacking what it meant, what he thought when he looked at her. “What am I?”

“You’re...not.” Sansa finished lamely. 

“You’re smarter than that,” He was suddenly looming over her. If he’d wanted, he could’ve reached out and touched her. His eyes were dark and bottomless, his hair falling lank over the ruined part of his face. “I make him look like a kitten.”

“I know.” Sansa had taken a step back, involuntarily. She laced her fingers together, trying to put her thoughts into words. “He hurt me. For years. You never did.”

“I could’ve. He wanted me to.” That was true; usually while he was drunk, Joffrey had demanded Sandor ‘discipline’ Sansa for some imagined slight or another. Sandor had never laid a hand on her.

“You didn’t,” Sansa replied. Her words were coming soft and fast, sounding more breathless than she really was. 

“Of course not.” Sandor scowled and suddenly moved as if he  _ did  _ want to touch her. At the last minute his hand dropped back to his side. “Don't be stupid.” 

The parking lot was mostly empty. Robb’s car was one of a handful left, and Sansa wanted nothing more than to run to it. She made herself stay. “Thank you.”

Sandor snorted. “Spare me. Go on now. You don't want to get caught with me. I won't hurt you but Cersei would tear you to pieces.”

Sansa nodded jerkily. She should say something, she  _ had _ to say something, something to acknowledge the unspoken bond they'd formed. But not for the first time lately, her words and polished manners failed her.  _ Where will you go? What’ll you do?  _ The questions clanged around in her head but she didn’t ask. He’d never tell her, anyway. She’d looked at him one last time, then fled through the woods, back into the sunlight.

She’d never see him again.

Sansa wondered sometimes what had happened to Sandor. It was almost like he'd never even existed. Not long after the funeral, a bum who spent his time down at the docks was arrested for it, but no one actually thought he was guilty. The man was too drunk to stand most of the time, and he’d been found hanged from his bedsheet before he even got to trial. Rumors had started flying fast and furious that he was just a patsy being silenced by the real killer, who was undoubtedly from one of the city’s more famous families. The Freys had done it because Joff had racked up some impressive debts in their gambling rings. A gang of bootleggers from Longsister had done it after he shorted them money. The Tyrells had done it just because they didn't like him, and had enlisted the president of Landing's Bank, Petyr Baelish. That one had made Sansa smile. Baelish hadn't even been in the city. He'd grown up with Sansa's mother and aunt, and had been visiting Lysa on something of an extended vacation on her mountain in Eyrie. The name ‘Sandor Clegane’ never passed anyone’s lips. 

By rights the city should’ve felt safer without Joff. But knowing Sandor was gone, unable or simply unwilling to look out for her, made the corners seem that much darker, casual glances on the street turning into leering stares. It wasn’t so bad, not a few years later. It was easier just to avoid eye contact on the streets.  _ No one looks anyone else in the eye anymore. _

_ Except Willas. _ The voice pinging in Sansa’s head sounded annoyingly like Jeyne. She was in her little makeshift wardrobe department again, alone this time and uneasy. She had been glancing over her shoulder all afternoon and into the evening, jumping at imagined noises and wishing there was someone else there with her. Jeyne had gone off with Beric after rehearsal had ended and Willas hadn't even been at the theater today. She'd started looking forward to seeing him, and to their conversations. They’d talk about books, plays, Seamus, the little puppy Sansa had fed. Willas had taken to calling it ‘Princess’, an oddly, well, girly name from a man like him. She was flourishing, Willas told Sansa proudly one day. He had his arm draped over the back of Sansa’s seat, his fingers gently toying with the ends of her hair. Two months ago the touch would’ve sent her heart racing with trepidation.

Sometimes conversation was impossible, and all they had time for was a quick ‘Hello’, but his smile made it enough. Jeyne had only teased her about Willas being in love with her the one time, but Sansa was starting to wonder if maybe it was possible...

_Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. _He deserves someone...whole. Whole and_ normal, _not some stupid girl who’s afraid of the dark._ _If he knew the truth he’d never want you._ _If he ever found out…_ The thought made her feel defeated. Even though he was moldering in the ground Joff was still painfully adept at ruining Sansa’s life. She’d have to end whatever was growing between her and Willas, and soon. _The sooner the better. He'll find someone better for him than you._

The image was unpleasant, and unwelcome. She could see it, though. Soon enough he'd stroll through that garden with another woman on his arm, laughing at her jokes and letting her pet Seamus. Whoever it was would be lucky.

Shoving aside her pile of mending with maybe a little more force than she intended, Sansa yanked the cord attached to the bulb dangling from the ceiling. Grabbing her pocketbook, she hurriedly locked the doors she was supposed to, flicking off lights here and there. Finally the only light was coming from the flickering red "Exit" sign over one of the heavy stage doors. The theater seemed to yawn open before her, dark and endless and waiting to swallow her. Fighting off a shiver, she pushed the door open and stepped into the falling twilight. It wasn't dark yet. If she hurried, she could beat it home.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa’s birthday fell on May 5th, two days after Jeyne’s. For as long as Sansa could remember, their families had always celebrated together, at one family’s home or another. This year it was the Poole’s turn to host, and the weather had cooperated. Their home was in one of the nicer neighborhoods just outside the city on a curvy street lined with old, lush trees. They’d only moved there a few years back, after Jeyne’s father had died. Her mother said she didn’t need all the extra space he’d enjoyed, but Sansa suspected she just couldn’t bear to be in a house full of memories. She could relate.

She looked out the window of Robb’s car as he pulled into the Poole’s curved driveway. Her mother’s car and Gendry’s old, beat-up truck were parked in front of the house, the latter looking painfully out of place.

In spite of herself, Sansa was disappointed that there wasn't another old, battered truck there.  _ You’re being stupid. Willas has better things to do than go to your birthday. And anyway, you’ll probably see him tomorrow at rehearsal. _ The thought made her stomach flutter.  _ Stop that. _

Next to her, Eddie babbled and climbed on her lap, pudgy hands pressed against the glass. Beth knelt next to him, while Roslin held Catie in her lap. “Careful,” she told her nephew. “Your daddy’s going to make you clean every single fingerprint off that glass.”

Robb parked the car, flicking the key out of the ignition. “He’d just lick them off. Wouldn't be the first time.”

“C’mon, you.” Sansa opened her door and set Eddie down. He seized Sansa’s hand and determinedly tugged her towards the front door. Before she could even knock the door was yanked open by two of Jeyne’s younger sisters. They clamoured to hug her and Eddie, and she was swept down the flagstone hallway towards the French doors leading to the backyard. Wicker chairs were scattered here and there, and the pool beckoned, clear and blue. Peony bushes were starting to sprout, lush and green, and brilliantly colored irises waved gently in the breeze. She could see Jeyne out there, directing her two other sisters in arranging hors d'oeuvres just so on a long table underneath a clump of locust trees.

“Sansa!” Jeyne trotted across the yard and hugged Sansa liked she hadn't just seen her yesterday. “You look lovely.”

“As do you.” Jeyne had treated herself to a new dress for her birthday, a soft, flowery lilac creation. Sansa tucked her hand in Jeyne's elbow and let her friend lead her to the food-laden table. “Did you bake?”

Jeyne snorted. “Please. Mom’s caterer baked. I  _ did, _ however, make that. Just for you.” She nodded towards the end of the table where a small silver platter waited, covered in braunschweiger, onions and Swiss on little slices of rye bread. “But you’re not allowed to eat it. Not yet.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Why not? It’s my birthday.”

“Trust me.” Jeyne kept glancing at the French doors expectantly, flipping her carefully-curled dark hair. 

The third time she did it Sansa looked as well. “What? What’s wrong? Is Beric late?”

“Oh, he’s not coming.” Jeyne said airily. “I’m not too bothered though.”

“No? Are you done with him, then?” Sansa tried to slide a piece of rye off the plate without Jeyne noticing.

Jeyne slapped her wrist. “ _ Stop _ that. And...he’s a nice guy and all, but we agreed to see other people. It was intense but…” she sighed dramatically. “The hottest fires burn the fastest.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Did you get that out of one of your novels?”

“No!”  Jeyne swatted at her. “Now stop haranguing me. Not all of us can have true love fall into our laps like you.”

“What-” Before Sansa could say more Jeyne pointed across the green yard.

“Look, my sisters got the croquet set out. This ought to be interesting.” 

Sansa snuck a piece of rye bread off the plate when Jeyne started across the lawn, and nibbled it happily while she watched her nephew and Theon’s boys chase each other around with croquet mallets. She stood next to her mother, who just sighed ruefully.

“They’re going to hurt each other.”

“They’re boys. It’s what they do.” Sansa brushed crumbs off her fingers. “Didn’t Theon try to brain Robb with a bocce ball when they were young?”

“He tried. Jon threw a horseshoe at him and nearly broke his nose.” Catelyn sipped from her glass of punch. “Boys are such trouble.”

Sansa’s smile tightened. She remembered when she’d been a girl, and her brothers and Theon would run rampant around the house. Before Bran’s accident, he and Rickon had followed suit. For the longest time the only person who could keep them in check had been their father. The year after he died her mother, unable to handle Rickon, had sent him to a military academy and the house, already feeling so empty, got that much quieter.

Watching the children play, her thoughts drifted back to Willas. He’d mentioned how close his family had been when he was young, how much his father had doted on his children. They at least understood what had happened when he died, how their happiness had been destroyed. Despite the soft warmth of the day, Sansa’s heart twisted. She desperately wanted her father here. She desperately wanted Willas to be there.  _ Dad would’ve liked him. _ Sansa hadn’t seriously dated anyone while her father was alive, but she had introduced him to one or two boys. He’d been stern, imposing, using his full height and squaring his broad shoulders until the boys had gone jelly-legged. At the time she had been mortified, but now she would’ve given anything for his approval.  _ He’d like him. They’d have gotten along. _

She swallowed hard, her rye bread clumping in her throat like sawdust.  _ Enough of that. It’s your party. Pretend to be happy, at least. _

The afternoon progressed peacefully. After Rodrik took a swing at Eddie’s head with a mallet, Mya gathered them up and distracted the boys with plates of food. Sansa watched, amused as Eddie toddled over, fingers sticky. “Cake?”

“Soon,” Jeyne answered before Sansa could, ruffling the boy’s chocolate curls. The French doors opened. Sansa watched, curious as Jeyne’s head whipped around. One of her younger sisters, Maggie, beckoned to her. Jeyne leaned over and grabbed Sansa’s wrist. “C’mon. Your present is here.”

“My-?” Sansa stumbled as Jeyne pulled her along. “We haven’t done presents for years.” She blinked owlishly in the cool, dark interior of Jeyne’s house. Jeyne hadn’t relinquished her grasp on Sansa and was grinning like an idiot. “Jeyne, what did you do?”

Jeyne tugged her through the kitchen and down the hallway towards the study.  She stopped just short of the door and eyed Sansa speculatively before reaching up and pinching her cheeks. “You need a little color.”

“Jey-OW, what are yo-” Sansa stammered as Jeyne pushed her into the study. It wasn’t a room she’d been in often, full of heavy, dark woods and crowded bookshelves. A large cage sat near the leaded window, filled with chattering grey finches. Standing near the large potted fern in the corner, looking as anxious as a schoolboy, stood Willas. He held a package wrapped in butcher paper, tied with twine, and gripped his cane with the other hand. He was wearing the bottle-green shirt again, the collar casually open. He gave her a tentative smile, and Sansa’s heart tripped.

“Willas,” she breathed, and could’ve kicked herself. She sounded like the ditzy heroine in any of the cheap romance novels she and Jeyne hid under their mattresses. With no small amount of effort, she yanked her gaze away from him and fastened it on Jeyne, silently questioning. Her expression was coy, dark eyes sparkling. With a wide grin, Jeyne winked and bowed out of the study, pulling the doors shut as she went.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Sansa smiled and laughed, or tried to. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Willas shrugged bashfully. “Jeyne told me last week it was your birthday and that I should stop by. So...I did,” he finished lamely. He seemed to remember the package in his hand. “This is for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Sansa’s cheeks were blazing.

“I know.” Willas held out the package. “I did anyway.”

Her stomach fluttering, Sansa took it and untied the butcher’s string. “Oh…”

Underneath the paper was an old, thick book. The butter-soft leather cover had been embossed at one point, but time had flaked off the gold. She traced her finger over the letters. _Complete and Unabridged Works of Wm. Shakespeare._ When she opened it her eyes flicked to the copyright - the book had been printed over 200 years ago. She ran her fingers over the intricately inked verso. The page were creamy and thick, a musty, spicy smell rising from them. Her throat closed and her eyes began to sting. “Willas, I…” 

“I know it’s not the one your father gave you, and it can’t ever replace it.”

Sansa couldn’t speak.   _ This must’ve cost him a fortune. Get yourself together and thank him. _ She opened her mouth, but again, nothing come out. After a minute Willas cleared his throat. “I’ll just go, then. Hap-”

Sansa's hand shot out and grabbed his. “Don't go.” Willas looked at her, his expression unreadable. Sansa willed her hand to let go, but her hand didn't get the message.“I'm sorry. I meant… This is beautiful.”

He smiled, relieved. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it.” This time Sansa's hand listened and released him. She sank onto the settee, still gripping the book. “But I can't accept this. It's too much.”

Willas eased himself down next to her. “Please,” he said gently. “I want you you have it.”

“Why?” She finally looked at him. There was a quiet, burning intensity in his dark eyes, like embers in a banked fire. For a long moment he gazed at her, trying to collect his thoughts. The only sound in the room was the quiet chattering of Mrs. Poole’s finches. Sansa’s heart pounded as his eyes moved over her face. He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His smile was a little hesitant, a little sad.

“You have to know by now that I love you.” 

Sansa's heart lurched, all of Jeyne's teasing flooding back in an instant, every look that had passed between her and Willas. She’d told herself he was just being nice but deep down, she knew she was lying to herself, just like she was lying to herself when she tried to deny how she felt about him. He went to cup her cheek but stopped, as if he thought she'd shatter. Maybe she would. Either way, her words stuck in her throat.  _ If he knew… You have to tell him. It's only fair. _

When she didn’t reply Willas smiled tightly. “Look, I’ve never been good at this sort of thing. These last few weeks…they've been amazing. You're a sweet, wonderful person, and I've...I was half in love with you before I even knew your name.” He shook his head, laughing ruefully. “Loras would be in hysterics if he could hear me. He likes to tease me that for all the reading I do, I'm lousy when it comes to making anguished declarations of love.”

Sansa's head was buzzing. Did she love him?  _ Could _ she?  _ Maybe.  _ It wouldn't be the torrid, heated love she used to read about in the penny novels. That much she knew. It would be comfortable and warm, and familiar. The thought of loving him, of  _ letting _ herself love him, felt like coming home after a long time away. It felt right.  _ It doesn't matter _ . “I care about you, Willas. I do. Quite a bit, actually. But…” She knotted her fingers together, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “I haven't been completely honest with you.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You know Joff and I were seeing each other.” At his nod she haltingly continued. She remembered the day they’d spent at his home, the quiet peacefulness of that afternoon that had been marred by the arrival of his cousin. Joff had ruined that day too.  _ He was always good at that.  _ “The night of the ball, the night he died, we...I went back to his house before that. He gave me something to drink and…” she couldn't look at him anymore. The shame welling up in her made her skin burn, made it hard to breathe. “He…”

Willas sat up slightly, realization dawning. “Oh. Sansa, whatever you did with him… It doesn't bother me. Really, I don't car-”

“It wasn't like that,” she interrupted. “He...I didn't want to.” The entire story gushed out at that point, a raw flood of things she'd never told anyone. What Joff had done. What Sandor had done, and what he hadn’t. How she'd kept herself locked up as tight as she could because it was safer that way, and how she hadn’t told anyone. She couldn't have stopped her words even if she wanted to. By the time she was done she felt as rung out as an old dish rag. Hesitantly she looked at Willas, unsure what to expect. Frankly she was amazed he was still there.

He was staring at her, bewildered. “But...your brother’s a copper. He didn’t…?”

“Joff was dead the next morning. Robb was assigned his murder and it would have complicated things.” Sansa looked at her lap. “I never told anyone.”

“Sansa…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Willas asked, incredulous. “It's not your fault. You don’t owe anyone an apology. Me least of all.” He stared out the mullioned window for a long minute while Sansa fought the urge to flee from the room. “What he did was unspeakable and unforgivable, and he deserves to burn for it. I know you want to hide away and keep yourself safe. But don't punish yourself by thinking you don't deserve to be loved. You do. You are.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. To her horror, her eyes welled up and the only sound that came was a harsh, gasping sob. It was followed by another, and another, seemingly wrenched from the deepest parts of her soul. She felt her face crumble and buried it in her hands, mortified beyond reason now.  _ It's bad enough you dumped everything on him but now you're making yourself look like a fool, too. _ The voice in her mind sounded irritatingly like Joff. Sansa’s shoulders hunched and she wanted to curl into herself where no one else could see. However low she'd ever been before, this was so much worse.

She was dimly aware of Willas shifting closer to her on the settee, of him gently wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. She couldn't say how long she stayed there, her face buried in his chest. He didn't say a word, instead stroking her hair and letting her weep. His soft, rhythmic touch was soothing, and before long her sobs began to quiet.

Eventually she straightened, swiping her hand across her cheeks and feeling how hot they were. “You must think I'm insane. All you did was come by to give me a gift and I thank you by dumping all of this in your lap.”

He shook his head before she was done speaking. “I don't think you're insane. I think you're incredible. You didn't ask for that and God knows you didn't deserve it. Listen, we’ve both been dealt some bad hands over the years. We’ve both earned a bright spot and you're mine. Let me at least try to be yours.” 

Sansa looked at him, chest tight. She remembered the way her stomach would flutter when he looked at her, the warmth of his laugh, how safe she felt when they were together. Joffrey had been a dark sludge she'd been drowning in, but Willas was here, offering her a way out, a way up.  _ He won’t hurt you. You know that. So what are you waiting for? _

“Your grandmother thinks I’m a silly girl.” Her voice quavered.

Willas’s expression was fondly exasperated. He cupped her face and drew her close, kissing her softly. He touched his forehead to hers while she felt a welcome warmth spread in her chest. “My grandmother thinks everyone is a silly girl. You don’t have to be afraid of her. Or anyone. No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”  He kissed her again, and she let herself enjoy it.  _ You’re not going to be afraid anymore. _

The door to the study burst open suddenly, sending the finches into a screeching tizzy. “Sansa, we’re waiting for you, are you al-...what’s going on in here?” 

Sansa pulled away, glancing toward the door and knowing she was beet red. Robb stood framed in the doorway, little Catie on his hip and his face frozen in shock. She dashed a hand across her lips and tried to smile. “Robb, this is-”

“Willas Tyrell.” Willas stood somewhat stiffly and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Robb eyed Willas suspiciously as he shook his hand, looking from him to Sansa and back again. “Robb. I’m Sansa’s  _ older _ brother.” He shifted his daughter to his other hip. “How do you know each other?”

Sansa fought off the urge to roll her eyes. Robb was slipping into police mode, suspicion and mistrust rolling off him in waves. She supposed she couldn't blame Robb. He knew how reclusive she’d become, if not why. For him to walk in and see her kissing a strange man that he’d never met and who was clearly older than him must’ve been alarming.  _ He could've knocked though.  _

“My grandmother’s involved with the play Sansa’s in, and I accompany her to the theater most days. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sansa. All good things,” Willas added hurriedly. He glanced at Sansa and smiled. “We’ve become close.”

“Uh-huh.” Robb was looking at Willas the same way Sansa imagined he looked at criminals he interrogated. “Can I have a word with my sister?”

“Of course.” Willas gathered his cane and, with another quick smile at Sansa, left the room.

Robb turned towards her. “And how long has  _ that _ been going on?”

This time she did roll her eyes. “Stop it. He’s a nice man, Robb.”

“A little long in the tooth, isn’t he?”

“No!” Sansa exclaimed. “What would it even matter? He’s a good man. He makes me happy, Robb. Do you have  _ any _ idea how long it’s been since anyone’s done that?” Her voice shook “ _ Do you? _ ”

Robb softened. He wrapped his free arm around her in an awkward, lopsided hug. “Alright, calm down. I’m sorry. I know how hard the past few years have been been on you and he seems like a nice man. A little old-”

“Robb!”

“-sorry. He seems like a nice man. I was just caught off-guard, is all. You’re my little sister. I’m supposed to vet your boyfriends. It’s my job.”

Sansa smiled against his chest. “Did you vet Arya’s?”

“She doesn't have a boyfriend. She has a victim.”

Sansa straightened and took Catie out of her father’s arms. “You don’t have to worry about Willas. I promise.”

“If you say so.” Robb straightened his shirt and pecked her forehead. “Now come on. You’re standing between Eddie and cake. And Rodrik and cake. And Theon and cake.”

Sansa smiled to herself and followed Robb down the hallway. In the backyard she could see Roslin and Mya trying to keep their children away from the table bearing a large cake. Catelyn and Mrs. Poole were making polite, if not curious, conversation with Willas, and Jeyne was grinning like the cat who ate the canary.Sansa shot her a look, knowing she’d have to deal with Jeyne later. She stepped into the sunlight, taking Willas’s hand. She didn’t miss the look her mother and Mrs. Poole exchanged as he excused himself as he pulled her aside.

“Is everything alright?” Willas asked quietly. “I didn’t get you in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Sansa replied. “Robb’s just being Robb. Didn’t you ever get protective of your sister when she started seeing someone?”

Willas snorted. “Have you  _ met _ my sister?” He took her other hand, looking at her. “Everything’s alright though? He’s not mad?”

Sansa nodded, smiling. She didn’t know where things would go from here, but she had a pretty good idea. She had Willas, and he had her. “Everything’s perfect.”


End file.
